Weight of the World
by historylover
Summary: Repost of my other favorite story.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: OK, I posted one of my favorite stories I wrote last week. This is my other favorite. I wrote it during the second half of the second season. However, how I wanted my climax to happen was already done… in "What Is and What Should Never Be." Seriously. It wasn't just "close enough for jazz." It WAS WIaWSNB. Which kind of ruined my plans for this story. Any similarity between this and ANY Supernatural episode really is purely coincidental. Especially any similarity between WIaWSNB

Still, it's my other favorite, so I'm sharing it again. It's a long one… 13 chapters. I'll also post every day or every other day. (By the way… this is the longest one I ever wrote.

As always, reviews are very appreciated.

Thanks.

Kat

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. But, boy, does it own me. Which is just sad.

**Weight of the World**

Dean took a sip of his beer and looked around the bar without really seeing anything. _Finally. Down time. No hunt to do. No Roadhouse to go to where we have to mingle with hunters who might want to kill Sammy. I know Stringbean's looking for a hunt. But, I want to lay low for a while. I don't want to deal with the FBI, from other hunters, from the Demon. I just need to collect my bearings. And catch my breath._

He eyed the people around the bar again and took the last sip of his beer. He could start hustling the drunk at the pool table, but pool wasn't what he needed. He turned back to the bar, and a full glass of beer sat in place of his empty glass.

The bartender shrugged. "Compliments of the young lady at table seven."

Dean turned and focused on a beautiful brunette, sitting alone at a table. She was staring at him, making no pretense of turning away whenever Dean looked at her. Everything about her body language screamed "Take me now!" She twirled a lock of her wavy hair around a finger, kept giving him a half smile with her wide-eyed stare, and kept running another finger around the lip of her glass of beer.

Dean grabbed his beer and got off the bar stool, relieved that Sammy wasn't here to stop him from going over to her, from casting judgment on him for having some fun with a willing participant.

_Maybe having some physical fun will cheer me up. _Since Milwaukee, Dean felt like he was already in prison. Sammy kept him on lockdown. "It wasn't me who was caught by news cameras seemingly robbing a bank!" _No, Stringbean. But the FBI wants you as well._

Dean shook his head. _My thoughts are so random now. My life is insane. Worrying about keeping two steps ahead of the FBI, figuring out the Demon's plans, worrying about the promise to kill Sammy if he goes all evil. Again. What those charms Bobby gave us don't work?_

Dean sighed. All this worst-case scenario thinking would probably drive him crazy. Besides, there was a pretty girl who was waiting for him.

He walked over to the woman, who gave him a come-hither look and laughed. "I was wondering when you were going to notice me. But you looked like you had your mind on other things."

Dean sat down at the table. "Just thinking. Thanks for the beer." He leaned back in his chair and grinned. "You've definitely got my attention now. So, what's your name?"

"Angela. What's yours?"

Dean briefly hesitated. "Ray Manzarek."

She cocked an eyebrow. "OK, Ray. I haven't seen you around here before. New in town?"

"Yeah." Dean took a drink of his beer.

She watched the beer glass go up to his mouth. He caught her stare, and she grinned. "You can't be here for pleasure. No one comes here for pleasure. If they do, they must be truly insane. It's little wonder there's a mental institution just up the road."

Dean chuckled dryly and put down his beer. "Actually, I am here for pleasure. So, that makes me insane, huh?"

She shrugged. "Well, if you're here for pleasure, I can show you a good time."

"I bet."

"You wanna get out of here?"

Just then, Dean's cell phone rang. "I gotta take this. Please hold that thought." He stood up and walked outside. Down the block, he could see his Impala sitting in front of the motel. No doubt Sammy was calling either about a hunt or he was worried about Dean's good time. _Sammy needs to do something else besides mope all the time and look for hunts. Those are the only two things he does if we're not actually hunting anything. I'm drowning here. _

He answered his phone. "Sammy, you know you're interrupting me from a classy woman who wants me? She sure has taste. So, what has your panties in a twist?"

"_I got a lead from Ellen. A possible poltergeist in Madison. I think we should check it out."_

Dean sighed. He hadn't been kidding when he told Sam he wanted to slow down. Even if it was simply to clear his head. This had been such a shitty year. The concept of seeing the Grand Canyon kept looking better and better all the time.

Problem was that half of him agreed with Sam. Maybe the trick to saving Sam was to keep killing as many evil sons of bitches as they possibly could. To keep moving. Keep ahead of the yellow-eyed bastard.

Between his warring feelings, Sam's occasional reminder of that stupid, regretful promise, the fear that he won't be able to save Sammy, and the nagging feeling that Dad could have done a better job protecting Sam than he was, Dean felt like he was being torn apart. He also felt like he was losing hold of his sanity.

Of course, it made it more painful because there was no one he could talk to. To release this constant pressure.

"_Dean?" _Sam's voice interrupted Dean's swirling thoughts. _"You there?"_

"Yeah." Dean ran a hand through his hair and glanced back at the door. "I guess we can check it out. I'll be back in a few minutes."

He hung up and walked back into the bar. Angela gave him a big grin.

"I thought you left me."

"As much I'd love to have a good time with you now, I'm gonna have to take a raincheck. Business calls. Sorry."

Her smile faded. "Oh." She dug around in her purse and handed a card to Dean. "Here's my number. You'd better call. At least, finish your beer, please?"

He picked up his beer and downed it. "It would have been fun, Angela," he said as he put the glass back on the table and walked out of the bar.

* * *

She watched him go, half-disappointed. He would have been fun, but she realized that having wild, one-time-only sex with Dean Winchester was not was she was assigned to do. Not what she agreed to do.

Father wanted Dean out of the way. She argued to let him live, not only because that was one fine man, but somehow, they weren't able to touch him. Taunt him. Hurt him. Make him feel like shit. But, they couldn't get to him.

She talked to her sister after the kid displayed the sack to possess Sam. The kid was glad that she planned her escape by breaking the Devil's Trap. She swore that she would try again to torture Dean. However, the kid was always to do-first, think it through later.

Father was similar. He wanted Dean dead. It seemed to be the only way to turn Sam towards his natural destiny. Dean was standing in the way. She argued for Dean's life, saying that they haven't been too successful in killing the cockroach. Hell, he's been touched by a reaper, not once, but _twice_, and he's still alive. Nasty, creepy, slimy reapers.

Plus, she suspected that if they killed Dean, he would still find a way to kick their asses.

If he dies from this, then great. Everybody's happy. Well, maybe not Sam, but at least h_e'_ll be able to fulfill what he was meant to do. And, Dean won't be aware that they had anything to do with his death. He'll just slip away, probably into his own mind. Into whatever fantasy his twisted mind has created.

She looked up at her brother, who was tending the bar. He looked pissed that she had been flirting with Dean. He also didn't like her plan. His plan also ran toward the "Kill, kill, kill" mentality.

It wasn't like she didn't have a score to settle with Dean. He killed her older brother. He sent her little sister to Hell.

However, even if he dies, it won't be on her hands. It would be destiny. And, her side will win this war.

It was perfect.

She walked to the bar. Her brother frowned at her. She put Dean's beer glass on the bar, and he quickly snatched it. "You were flirting with him," he said accusingly.

"Yeah. So? Did you see him? I didn't know he looked _that_! Because, damn!" She motioned for the chalice. "C'mon. Give me it. I need to check in."

He handed her the chalice, and she looked around the bar. She spotted a geek sitting by himself at a table, awkwardly bouncing to the music. She walked over to the table.

"Wanna have a good time, handsome?"

He looked up and grinned, flashing a mouthful of braces. "OK!"

"Lead the way, tiger," she stepped back and let geekboy out of his seat, which he knocked over in his eagerness.

She wished he wasn't so eager. She hated this part. She wished there was such a thing as a person-to-demonic realm cellphone.

He practically bounced to the door.

Once outside the bar, she glanced over at the motel down the street and spotted the Winchesters' muscle car, gleaming under the street light. She noted the space it was parked in. Knowing where the car was would make it easier to track both men.

She looked back at geekboy. "I need to call my father." She steered him to the alley.

"That's alright. I need to check in with my mother. Tell her I'll be late."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" She backed him up against the brick wall and dug out the chalice from her purse.

He laughed at the cup. "You know, I have a cellphone you can borrow."

"I know, right? A cellphone would be so much easier, but I haven't been able to convince anyone of that. The whole 'traditional' thing and all." She frowned. "Anyway, I'm sorry. I really am."

He never saw her knife as it slit his throat. He never felt anything. She caught his blood and turned away to let the body fall to the ground.

She swirled the blood around and watched it open.

"_Yes, my daughter? Have you completed your mission?" _Her father's deep voice came through the blood.

"Yes, Father. I completed it. Dean Winchester never knew what it him."

"_So, the Winchester brothers are separated?"_

"Physically, no. Not right now. They're probably in the same motel room right now. Mentally, spiritually, emotionally, Dean's completely gone. My advice is to give it a week, maybe two, and Dean will be completely gone. Just a memory. His protection over Sam is over."

"_Is he alive?"_

"For now. I just don't know how he'll physically react to the drug."

"_Good girl."_


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: And we continue

**Weight of the World**

He walked back to the motel. As soon as he stepped into the room, he felt woozy and sick. _Almost like I'm hungover, but I only had three beers._

Sam looked up from the laptop. "I figure if we get out of here by 6, we can make Madison by mid-afternoon. And, I've started doing research on the area." He turned back to the laptop and clicked on another page.

Dean rubbed his suddenly tired eyes. He felt hot. He felt a little feverish. When he opened his eyes again, he got a momentary flash of light, like someone was shining a flashlight into his eyes. He could dimly hear voices, but he couldn't quite make them out. He blinked away the spots dancing before his eyes. _OK, that was weird_, he thought as he sat down on the bed.

"You mean Carrie-Anne 'They're he-re' and all of that?"

"Yeah, something like that." Sam sounded a bit annoyed. "Anyway, the house is owned by Walter Harrison, and he has called the police several times for 'strange' disturbances and times he thought people were breaking into his house at night…"

Sam's voice faded out, and Dean looked up to see a white hospital room. He was lying in bed, but he wasn't attached to any machines. Just an IV. He moved his legs to discover that his ankles were strapped to the bed, as was his wrists. He frowned, confused. _What the hell is going on? Where the hell am I? I was just in the motel room!_

He struggled against his leather cuffs, but he couldn't free himself. As he planned his next attack, he heard low voices outside the room. The same voices he heard previously. Again, he tried to work his hands out of the leather cuffs.

"We think the drugs are finally starting to work again, Mrs. Winchester. He's beginning to come out of it. I'm optimistic that this batch of drugs will work," a man's deep voice said outside of Dean's door.

"That's what you said six months ago, and he slipped right back into his delusions," a woman had a frustrated edge to her voice.

"Jess, don't," another woman's voice interrupted. "Can we see him yet?"

Dean looked around the room. _OK, I'm a prisoner. Am I being held hostage? Does Sam know? Is he being held somewhere? I will kick this bad's ass if Sammy's hurt._

"Miss Moore, I understand your concerns," said the man again. "But, there's no such thing as a miracle cure for this illness. And, it's an illness. A brain disease. He's been off his medications for almost two years now. It's going to take a while to bring him out of his own mind. And, his delusions are complex, but they're primarily built around his center delusion."

"The brother," the first woman said without bothering to hide her frustration.

"Yes. But the electroshock therapy seems to have worked. But, I still don't recommend seeing him yet, Mrs. Winchester. He was still deep in his delusions yesterday. And this morning he was pretty confused and out of it. But, the good news is his CT scan is starting to show an increase in his grey matter and a little more normal activity in his frontal lobe. However, there's still a long way to go. Recovery is not going to happen overnight."

"Is he alright physically?" said the second woman. "Was that a bad seizure he had last night?"

"Well, we don't like to see seizures at all, and we strapped him down to keep from hurting himself. But, as far as seizures go, it was relatively mild. We're hoping that those will be passing soon."

Dean struggled with his straps again. It seemed to him the more he moved, the tighter the straps became. He finally stopped struggling and began to look around the room as he tried to catch his breath. His bed was in good position to see out of the large window, which was unlike a normal hospital window. Picturesque grounds. Unlike any hospital he had ever been in.

_So, what's wrong with me?_ Dean idly wondered why he wasn't more concerned about himself.

The door opened, and an African-American man stepped into the room. "You're awake." He pulled up a chair by Dean's bed.

Dean looked at him, trying to place him. His voice sounded familiar. "Who are you?"

The man smiled. "We had to give you some massive doses of the drugs. Plus, the electroshock. Well, I'm not surprised your memory is a little hazy. I'm your psychiatrist, Dr. Hendrickson.

Dean frowned and glanced at his straps. "Victor Hendrickson?"

Hendrickson grinned. "That's right. It's coming back to you, huh?"

Suddenly, Dean realized what was happening. "You finally caught me, huh? This isn't exactly what I thought prison was like."

Hendrickson tapped his pen against the file he was holding. "Still being chased by the FBI, Dean? And, are you still a demon hunter? You're not a prisoner. Not really. Your family committed you, but they're eager to sign your release papers once you get well again. As far as the straps go, while we were figuring out which anti-psychotic drugs worked the best for you, we kept you strapped down. It was a way to keep you from hurting yourself during your seizures. But, I'm confident we now have hit upon the correct dosage, and you're on your way to get better. If you keep on your meds." He paused. "Your fiancée and mother were just here. They want to see you. Right now, I don't think that's a good idea, do you?"

Dean softly chuckled. "Sounds to me like you got the wrong guy, pal. My mother's dead, and I know for damn sure I don't have a fiancée. And I'd like to go. I have work to do."

Hendrickson stood and released Dean's wrist and ankle straps. "I'll see you in the morning, Dean. Your real counseling sessions will start tomorrow. And, I think we're already starting to make progress. Your CT scans show a rapid improvement. And I'm not that worried that you don't remember your family right now. The electroshock, the seizures, the increased medication and the disease itself have given you a form of temporary amnesia. You'll get your memories of your real life back and leave your delusions behind."

"So, what's wrong with me?"

"You have schizophrenia. Paranoid category."

Dean sat up and eyed Hendrickson suspiciously. As he swung his legs over the side of the bed, he felt dizzy and exhausted, like he was coming out of a migraine.

Hendrickson walked to the door and opened it. "We'll talk tomorrow. Join some activities tomorrow. A lot of people are looking forward to seeing you again. Maybe this weekend, your mother and fiancée can finally see you as well. They've been here every single day. Anyway, I'm going to have a nurse make sure you take your meds tonight and tomorrow and we'll talk later."

"And I'm sure there are a lot of ways she'll make sure I take my meds," Dean said slyly.

Hendrickson chuckled. "You are an engaged man. Note to self: get you a male nurse. I think your fiancée would kill both of us if a beautiful female nurse tempted you. Besides, right now, your meds are in form of injections. Good night."

Dean hesitated. "Has Sam been here to see me?"

Hendrickson frowned. "Obviously your primary delusion will be harder to overcome than others. We'll talk tomorrow. Get some sleep."

A/N: Short one. I know. I'm hoping I'm just getting wound up. And, I can't tell you how much I appreciate everyone's reviews!

Saved in my favorites right now is a website called "schizophrenia" which tells me everything I needed to know (but was afraid to ask) about schizophrenia.

Also, this won't just be what Dean's experiencing.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I'm going ahead and posting chapter three the same day as I posted chapter two. Particularly since some things never change. As always, I'm getting a lot of story alerts, but not many reviews. I want to hear from you guys. Obviously, you're enjoying what you're reading, and I'd like to get some feedback, other than getting alert notices.

Disclaimer: Still don't own anything.

**Weight of the World**

Dean woke up, feeling more rested than he had in a long time. In his whole life, really. He got out of bed and looked out his large window at the beautiful grounds. He was struck again with how familiar and normal this seemed.

Demon and ghost hunting? That life seemed to be a bad dream.

The door opened, and Dean turned around. A mountain of a nurse stood in his doorway. She was holding a syringe as long as his arm.

"It's time for your medication," she growled.

"Can't you just leave the pills by my bed and I can take them later?"

She lightly released the plunger and a little bit of clear liquid came out of the needle. "You're not taking pills."

Dean tried to evade her as he ran to the door. Either he was slower than he remembered, or she was much faster than she looked, but she easily blocked his way to the door. She braced him against the wall and quickly jammed the needle into his arm and released the liquid into his body.

As she let go of him, he rubbed his sore arm. "Thanks, Nurse Ratchet."

"I hate that nickname. You don't have any idea how you're like when you're off your medication, do you? Do you have any idea what you've done to your poor family? Especially, since you seem to love to try to kill yourself."

"You are always such a ray of sunshine. Has anyone ever told you that?" He stopped rubbing his arm. "And, what do you mean about trying to kill myself?"

"I don't buy that amnesia shit," she said as she walked out the door.

_OK, she's got the bedside manner of a serial killer. Or a gnarl demon. _"Thanks for gracing me with your cheerful, uplifting presence!" he called after her, hoping that she wouldn't be his regular nurse. He could charm most women, but she seemed to be something other than human.

Now, he just needed to figure out a way to counteract the drugs in his system.

He focused on the file lying on his bed. Nurse Ratchet must have brought it in with her. He went to the file and opened it.

_Dean Winchester, DOB 1/24/79  
Diagnosis—Paranoid Schizophrenia_

_I'm not buying that I'm schizophrenic, _Dean thought. _Something's wrong here._ Yet, once again, he was struck by how natural that felt. Like he had heard that diagnosis before. He could remember being diagnosed as schizophrenic, although he couldn't quite remember the event.

He flipped through the file. The more recent notes were in dry, clinical jargon, but Dean could understand electroshock therapy. He turned the page to look at a picture of his cut-up wrists.

He put down the folder and pulled up his sleeve. On his wrists were half-healed scars. He lightly ran a finger over each scar. It looked like a serrated knife had attacked him.

He felt his heart sink. He knew he had done that to himself. Although, he didn't remember doing anything like cutting his wrists.

"You tend to hold everything inside, and then punish yourself," Dr. Hendrickson's voice interrupted Dean's inspection of his scars. "You told me once that you feel that you don't deserve to be loved. And, Dean, your mother, your fiancée, they love you. They want to see you better."

Dr. Hendrickson gently pulled the file away. "I'm also transferring Nurse Cooper away from you. I'm sorry about that. She's on duty today, but she really shouldn't be the one giving your meds. I think she should laugh off the nickname you gave her, but she can't let go of it."

Dean sat on his bed. He didn't want to think about Nurse Ratchet. Not without holy water and a Devil's Trap. "So, where's my Dad?"

"According to your mother, your father died in a car wreck seven months ago. We think that this was the reason you stopped taking your meds and went into a tailspin. But, you're going to get better. I promise."

Dr. Hendrickson walked to the door. "After breakfast, join in with the group therapy. I just came by to tell you that we're going in for a meeting with your mother and your fiancée. I wanted to wait for this meeting, but I think you need it. Hopefully, some of your questions will get answered, and will convince yourself that all this is real. Because, I don't think you're doing that yet. I think you're convincing yourself that this is just another delusion. And, I promise you that it's not."

"Where's Sam?"

Dr. Hendrickson turned around. "I guess it's better to tell you bluntly. Your brother died at six months old from Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. Everything else is something your mind has created."

Dean stopped in shock. _Sammy's dead? And when he was six months old? He's not dead. He can't be dead._

Dr. Hendrickson sighed. "I'm sorry, Dean. I don't usually like to be so blunt with my patients. But, hopefully now that you know the truth, you'll give up your delusions of your brother and start getting better. Because, he's the one who keeps pulling you back into your imagination and into your head until you lash out at yourself.

He left the room. Dean turned and looked out the window. If this is true, then there's really nothing holding him into this world that he's created for himself. Except possibly himself.

No running from the FBI or from the demon. Having a loving family. Normalcy. This would be nice if it was real.

* * *

"Anyway, I can't find anything on-line about the house. I figured if we leave early morning, we can check it out. Maybe start researching it." Sam turned to Dean. "What do you think?"

Dean was looking at Sam, but the look in his eyes sent a chill down Sam's spine. It was like Dean was looking through him. Almost like he was in another place entirely.

_He must be drunk or something, _Sam tried to tell himself, but something about Dean's look frightened him. Dean was also flushed and sweating, which was weird as well.

"Are you sick?"

Suddenly, Dean's eyes rolled back into his head and he fell forward, off the bed and onto the floor.

"Dean!" Sam jumped out of the chair, but all he could do was watch in horror as Dean started having a seizure. The only other time Sam had ever seen a seizure was at Stanford. A friend had epilepsy, and he had changed his medication. His friend treated it like it was an every day occurrence.

However, that was a friend with epilepsy. This was Dean.

Dean's tremors stopped and his breathing started to slow, although it seemed unusually shallow. He remained unconscious. Sam carefully eased Dean into bed, shuddering at the feel of the waves of heat radiating out of his brother.

Sam sat on his bed, watching Dean carefully. He knew that after a freakin' seizure, he probably should take Dean to a hospital. But, Dean would be pissed. Plus, if he couldn't answer any questions, like what the hell is wrong with Dean, they might start checking into fingerprints and police records. Which would be a very bad thing.

It might be better to wait it out. Maybe see how Dean is in the morning.

He rummaged through the first aid kit. _Thermometer…thermometer…thermometer? Here it is. _He shook it down and stuck it under Dean's tongue. He quickly went to the bathroom to soak a wash cloth in cold water, hoping that the seizure was a one-time-only thing. That was the scariest thing he had seen. Well, after seeing Dean dying in the hospital—twice—and Dean getting bled out by the demon possessing Dad.

Why is it that the scariest things he had ever seen directly involved Dean?

Sam walked back into the bedroom area and placed the wet cloth on Dean's forehead. He withdrew the thermometer. It read 103°. _That can't be right. That fever came on way too fast for it to be that high._

He grabbed aspirin and filled a cup of water, trying to figure out how to get Dean to take it. Finally, he pulled Dean up to a sitting position and put the two aspirin in his mouth, followed by the water. Dean swallowed the tablets and the water unconsciously, and Sam lowered him back down.

He removed the already hot cloth and gently lifted up Dean's eyelids. Dean's eyes were so dilated they appeared black. Sam got a chill down his spine again until he saw a slight ring of green around Dean's pupils.

_Good. He's not possessed by anything. Just sick._

"You know, you didn't have to come down with anything. You could have said, 'Can we rest a little?' I would have understood."

Sam covered Dean up and grabbed his jacket to hang up. As he did, a business card fell on the floor. Sam picked it up and looked at it. _Angela Devlyn._ Along with an address and phone number.

He wondered if this was the classy woman Dean had mentioned. Probably. Knowing Dean, he'll probably want a one-night stand before they leave and after he feels better. Dean's only real weakness—always trusting a pretty face. Being a horndog.

He tapped the card before dropping it on the nightstand. Something about it made him feel uneasy.

* * *

Sam woke up and shot into a sitting position. He didn't remember going to bed.

He didn't remember much of the dream that woke him up. For once. He hadn't had one of those dreams since Oregon.

But he felt an overwhelming sense of dread and doom. Which was almost worse.

The only thing he remembered was the tombstone. But, he woke up before he saw the name on it.

He turned on the light and looked at Dean. Dean was dead to the world. He was no longer sweating. Sam wondered if the fever had past.

He got up and went to check on Dean. Before he even touched his brother's flushed skin, Sam could feel the heat radiating out of Dean. It was like holding his hand over a blazing fire.

_This is not good._ Sam thought as he grabbed the thermometer. Dean's temperature had gone up two degrees.

"Oh, my God. It's gone up? Dean, I don't care what you think. I'm taking you to the hospital. That fever is way too high," Sam said as he maneuvered Dean into position so he can drag him to the car.

As Sam drove to the hospital, he hit a number on his phone. The phone automatically dialed the programmed number. Sam prayed that he was there.

The phone was answered. "Hello?"

"Bobby? It's Sam. There's something wrong with Dean, and I think I need your help."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: By the way, I got my medical information from the Mayo Clinic's website.

Also, I'm working on mixing it up a little bit. I'm hoping it works.

Working on chapter 4, if y'all want it.

Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Nope. Still don't have Supernatural. Just think of the fun that I would have with it!

**Weight of the World**

She watched the Impala drive away from the motel and smiled to herself. _Soon, it'll be over. Just need to be patient._

She hated waiting, almost as much as the rest of her family did.

* * *

Sam paced in the waiting room. The doctors had whisked Dean away as soon as Sam had told a nurse about Dean's abnormally high fever and seizure.

"You should have brought him in sooner than this," the nurse had bitched.

_Thanks for your sympathy, _Sam thought. But, now, the only thing he knew was that everyone was trying to lower Dean's temperature as fast as they could.

Sam awkwardly folded himself in a chair and dialed Bobby's cell phone number to find out where he was. Although Bobby lived three hours away, he could drive like Mario Andretti. He knew all the speed traps in a 150-mile radius, and he knew all the backroad shortcuts.

He had taught both John, and a little later, Dean, everything he knew about getting from one point to another as fast and as safe as possible. Well, before he ran John off with a buckshot rifle.

Bobby answered on the second ring. "Sammy, I'm about 90 minutes away."

Sam released a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Thank you, Bobby."

"So, what exactly is going on? Why do you think you need my expertise? I'm happy to help in any way, but what's going on?"

"Well, Dean's pretty sick…"

"I got that from your previous phone call. I'm assuming it's just not the flu, huh?"

Sam sighed, "I don't know. It might be the flu, but I can't shake this feeling."

"Always trust your gut and your instincts. If you think it's something bad—worse than just the flu—it probably is."

Just then, a doctor came in to the room. "Hang on, Bobby," Sam said and put his phone down. He stood and walked to the doctor. "How's my brother?"

"Well, Mr. Warren, he's pretty sick. His temperature is now 104°, and we can't seem to get it down. But, we're not sure what's wrong. We're running tests right now, and we're also working on getting that fever down. Right now, there's definitely something strange in his blood, but we can't isolate it. He's also having some strange brain activity, but that might be due to the seizure. But, along with that seizure, well, it's not good. I'm sorry."

"But, he was no longer sweating. How could his temperature have gone up?"

"He's severely dehydrated. And, we don't know why his temperature is so high right now."

"What happens if you can't get his fever down soon?"

"Well, it's bad. He runs the risk of blindness, deafness, brain damage, organ failure—he's already having trouble breathing. We're putting him on a ventilator to help him breathe. Mr. Warren, if we can't get his fever down soon, he could die. I'm so sorry. We're doing everything we can for him, but you need to know what can happen."

Sam felt short of breath, like someone had punched him in his chest. _This can't be happening again!_

The doctor continued, "The good news is that his temperature hasn't risen any. It's holding at 104°. And, he's a strong, young man. Once we determine what's causing the fever, we can start getting him better. But, I have some questions. Has he been injured recently? Knocked out or anything?"

_Depends on what your definition of "recently" is. _"No, not really."

"Well, we're checking him out for infections. He seems to have a recent, healed bullet wound that we're checking out. Although, it looks healed, we're checking it out. And some other older wounds that we're checking for infections. It's weird to see a bullet wound scar in someone that doesn't seem to have any medical records. Would you know anything about him getting shot?"

Sam swallowed hard. "No."

The doctor nodded. "OK. We'll keep you updated on what's going on."

He left the room, and Sam returned to the phone. "Bobby?"

"I heard. Sammy, Dean's not going to die. I promise. We'll get to the bottom of it."

"What if he's sick because that damn bullet wound didn't heal properly? He's sick, and he might die because of what I did to him when I was possessed."

Bobby sighed. "Well, anything's possible. But, was he favoring the arm any before all this happened? I know he wouldn't say if he was hurting, but has he acted hurt any time recently?"

"No."

"Then, the doctors are fishing in the wrong pond. We'll take care of it, Sammy. Dean'll get better. And, I'm going to hang up and watch the road. I'll see you soon."

* * *

Dean sat under a tree on the grounds and tried to ignore the woman in his group babble about her delusions of being a spy. Although the junior therapist kept encouraging him to speak, he wasn't in the mood. Besides, Matt, the therapist, seemed like a New Age-y, hippy guy, all "love and embrace yourself."

What did Matt really know about problems?

Dean kept eyeing a guy walking around the grounds in wrist shackles, talking to himself. Dean wondered if he looked as crazy when he was under his own delusions.

Dr. Hendrickson walked up to the group. "Matt, I hate to interrupt you, but can I steal Dean there?"

Matt grinned up at Dr. Hendrickson and back at Dean. "Sure you can!"

Dean scrambled up and walked away with the psychiatrist. He motioned to the guy walking around in shackles, talking to himself. "Is he schizophrenic?"

Dr. Hendrickson glanced over at the guy. "Yes, he is."

"When I'm under my delusions, do I walk around talking to myself?"

"No. You tend to like to hold everything inside you. It's only when we specifically ask you about details about your delusions that you tell us what you're hallucinating. Like what is the best gun to use on a werewolf or what's the best ammunition to use on a ghost."

"Why's he in shackles?"

"He killed his wife under a delusion. We can't find the right medication to regulate him. He's in another ward, under lock and guard." Dr. Hendrickson opened the door to the hospital and looked back at Dean. "If you're wondering if you're as sick, well, you are and you aren't. You respond well to medication, and you don't lash out at others. However, when you get off your meds, you don't lash out at others." He grabbed one of Dean's scarred wrists. "You lash out at yourself."

Dean pulled his hand away from the doctor. "So, where are we going?"

"We're having a meeting with your mother and fiancée. Now, Dean, I want you to prepare yourself. We're going to be talking about you with you in the room. But, these are things you need to hear in order to know what's going on."

Dr. Hendrickson opened his office door. "Wait in here. We'll be back soon."

Dean stepped inside, and the door closed behind him. He wandered around the office, eyeing the diplomas. He idly flipped through the psychology books on the shelves, but they were full of psychological babble that he quickly replaced. Then, he fingered the pictures of Dr. Hendrickson with his wife and children.

As he was holding a picture of Hendrickson and loved ones at the Grand Canyon, the door opened again. Two blonde women entered the room. The older woman spotted Dean behind the desk and ran over.

She grabbed him in a hug. "Dean! My baby!" She pulled away and held his face between her hands, as if trying to commit what he looked like to memory. She blinked back tears.

"Hi, Mom." Dean felt tears jump into his eyes.

Jess closed the door and walked over. When Mary stepped back, Jess stepped forward and put her arms around Dean's neck. "I missed you so much," she whispered.

Dean gently took her hands off his neck. For some reason, this familiarity felt awkward.

She looked at him, disappointed. "OK. I'll give you time."

"Jess, I'm sorry. It's just that I'm…"

She smiled sadly. "I know. I understand. You're feeling overwhelmed."

Just then, the door opened again, and Dr. Hendrickson walked in. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but let's get started." He motioned to a recliner in the corner. "Dean, why don't you sit here? Ladies, pull up a chair."

He walked around behind his desk, opened a file, and sat down. Dean reluctantly took a seat in the recliner, but he noticed that this place gave him an excellent view of Mary, Jess, and Hendrickson. The women sat down in straight back chairs in front of the desk.

Hendrickson cleared his throat. "Well, the electroshock seemed to have worked wonders. And, we're starting to get his medication regulated. I have some questions that will relate to treatment, though."

Mary interrupted him, "When will he be able to go home?"

"Well, technically, you can sign him out at any time, since you committed him. But I don't recommend it. He needs more one-on-one therapy before I feel comfortable with releasing him. Right now, he's still debating to himself if this is an illusion. And, if that happens too much, he may try to kill himself again."

Mary caught her breath and glanced over at Dean. She looked back at Hendrickson. "Is he still thinking of Sammy?"

"He is. That's his primary delusion. Everything else—the demon hunting, the supernatural aspects—is supporting his primary. He's even given many of the things in his real life to Sam. You, Miss Moore, are one of those parts in his life that he's given to his delusion of Sam. His Stanford education. His law school education. Even something as simple as his migraines, he's given to Sam. But, we're going to help him understand that he's the one who has lived those parts, not Sam."

Hendrickson flipped a page on the file. "He's also combining the days of Sammy dying and your house fire. Except, he's pretty confused about what happened. In a way, he believes you died, Mrs. Winchester."

Mary wiped her eyes. "I know." She turned to Dean. "You remember the house fire? You couldn't have been more than five years old." She turned back to Hendrickson. "It was an electrical fire. The house was pretty destroyed, but everyone was alright. The fire started in my office."

"Just a random thought: is your office Sammy's old nursery?"

"Yes."

Hendrickson made a note in the file. "How'd Sam die?"

"It was Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. He was six months old to the day."

"When did your husband pass away?"

"About 7 months ago."

He turned to Jess. "When did you start seeing a change in Dean?"

Jess cleared her throat. "Well, starting a couple years ago really. I started noticing a lot more changes shortly after John's death."

"What did you notice?"

"Well, it was subtle, at first. Just random changes. Pushing everyone away. I mean, he always does that, but this was more. He just wouldn't talk to anyone. Not even me. Sometimes, when I got home from class, I'd walk into our bedroom to see him sitting on the floor, just staring into space. For hours at a time. I started keeping track of his pills. To be honest, occasionally, I'd try to dissolve his pills in food. That never seemed to work, though. When he ran out of his last batch, he just didn't refill them. And, I wasn't allowed to refill them. No one would give me his prescriptions."

Hendrickson made a few more notes in the file. "We'll change that. I'll authorize both of you as ones who can refill his medication if you see it getting low." He looked over at Dean. "Although, I'm hoping that Dean will be able to keep up on his medication himself."

Dean shifted uncomfortably in the chair. He hated this. _So, I have a dead brother, a burned up house, a fiancée who's trying to drug me, and I went to law school at Stanford? No wonder I'm nuts._

Hendrickson turned to Dean, "So, how are you doing over there?"

"Oh, great. You know me." Dean said, letting sarcasm color his words.

Hendrickson turned back to Jess. "OK, continue."

Jess blushed a little bit, then continued, "We had a stupid argument the night Dean tried to kill himself. We were in Lawrence, obviously since he's here. Anyway, he had mentioned Sam again, although, as you probably know, he doesn't talk about his delusions much. But, he said something in passing about Sam and me being together. Worse than anything, Dean seems fine with it. And, I snapped. I really let him have it. I was hurt that he was pairing me with Sam, and killing me in his delusions as well! When he's healthy, I know he loves me and wants to marry me. When he's off his meds…" She cleared her throat and brushed at her eyes. "Anyway, Mary came in and told me to go to the school with her and cool off. I went with her, and when we came back, Dean was in the bathroom, and he had cut his wrists. Blood was all over the bathroom. He was unconscious. When he woke up, he said that a demon had attacked him." She broke down in tears.

Hendrickson put down his pen. "Do you remember any of this, Dean?"

Dean shook his head, unable to trust his voice.

The doctor turned to Dean. "You created these delusions about Sam in an attempt to feel more important than you are. To feel like you're protecting someone or something. And, Dean, if you'll listen to these women who love you, you are so important to them. Do you understand? They love you so much. You don't need these delusions to be important or to make your life exciting. In these delusions, you have said that you feel unloved, unwanted. If you want, I can play you tapes of you saying that. So, why would you even want to stop taking your meds and have to go back to that?"

Dean looked down at his feet and shifted uncomfortably, unable to speak.

Hendrickson turned back to Mary and Jess. "These delusions are very real to him. What's reality, really, but something you can sense? Touch, smell, hear, see, taste? Dean does have these multi-level delusions, but they are real to him. That's what schizophrenia does. And, right now, I think everyone could agree that Dean's best interest is not to go home right now. If he makes good progress in the next couple of months, I won't argue about releasing him on a trial basis, as long as he keeps up with his meds and comes to see me at least three times a week. But, that's only if he shows some real progress. Dean, this means you got to participate in group, even though you might feel embarrassed about your illness. Everyone in your group has schizophrenia. They all know what you're going through."

He leaned back in his chair. "So, how's everyone feeling about this plan? I know it's not ideal, but you play the cards you're dealt. Dean has an uphill battle, but he'll conquer it. I know he will. You two know he will."

The women nodded at Hendrickson. "Great!" He stood up and walked over to Dean, who looked up at him. Hendrickson held out his hand. "Shake my hand, Dean."

Dean hesitated before extending his hand. Doctor and patient shook hands. Hendrickson continued, "You've taken your first step to getting well. The medication works as long as you're willing to admit you've got a disease."

TBC

Again, thank you all who have read and reviewed. I can't tell you how much I appreciate y'all. Thanks for going along with my twisted imagination.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: OK, I'm bored. So, I'm posting a second chapter. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Still don't own anything. Still majorly bummed out.

**Weight of the World**

Dean sat in his room, idly flipping through one of his casebooks from school. Jess had brought him these books a couple days before. This was some boring shit, just case after case after case, with no practical applications. However, he recognized his handwriting along the margins of the book. According to his notes, he found them just as boring when he was in school.

He tossed the book back into the box. He really didn't want to go back to law school, like both Mom and Jess were encouraging him to do. At least, not right now. Better to get his head on straight again before cramming it with legal crap.

He made a mental note to ask Dr. Hendrickson if studying these casebooks played any part in making him crazy.

Plus the idea of finishing up law school and going for his bar exam was pretty scary.

"So, what do you want to do?" Dr. Hendrickson had asked yesterday.

"I don't know."

"Well, you've been making some astonishing progress over the last month. Do you really accept that this hunting lifestyle and Sam are just delusions your mind created for you?"

Dean almost could. Except nights, when he woke up from dreams of hunting. During the day, he could barely remember what Sam had looked like in his mind or what is the best ammo to use on ghosts.

Not that ghosts exist anyways. The only demons that exist are the internal ones.

Days, he could absolutely convince himself of that. Nights were a different story.

Still, Dean couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right. He constantly had a nervous, anxious feeling in his stomach.

Maybe it was because he had no clue what he was going to do when he got out of here.

Maybe instead of going back to Stanford, or KU, like Mom was suggesting, he could go for his education degree. History or law. Mom always loved teaching history at KU. She made a fun professor, and students always tried to get into her classes.

He had always loved kids. Although he admitted that no school district in its right mind would hire someone who has been committed.

Dean shoved the box under his bed and walked out into the hall. He was restless. Maybe going down to the rec room and shooting some pool or going to the gym to work out would clear his head.

He looked around. Down the hall, he could hear Nurse Ratchet's voice, "Do you have any idea what you did, you clumsy oaf!?"

"Now what?" He muttered to himself as he went down the hall to see what was going on.

Nurse Ratchet was standing over Christa, who was in Dean's group. Christa was kneeling down, straightening up papers and files.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Cooper!" She frantically scooped up the papers under Nurse Ratchet's glare.

"Are you stupid as well as crazy?"

Christa looked down, her hair falling over her face, and her shoulders shook with shook with suppressed sobs.

Dean walked up. "At least we all know we're crazy, so there's hope for us. What's your excuse, Nurse Ratchet?"

The nurse slowly straightened up and turned to Dean. Dean had an overwhelming feeling that her eyes would be a strange black. He was half-confused when she completed her turn, and her eyes were normal brown. Albeit a very furious brown.

_Maybe I haven't progressed as far as I thought with my delusions. I don't want my doses increased._

"Who decided you could butt in, Winchester?"

"Why don't you pick on someone your own size, Ratchet?"

"Like you?" She straightened up to her full height, and damned if she wasn't almost as tall as him.

"I was thinking more in terms of Mt. Everest." He extended his hand to Christa and pulled her to her feet. "It's alright, Chris. Don't worry about it. Accidents happen."

Nurse Ratchet glared at them. "I know your delusions aren't gone, Winchester. You just don't talk about them. But, I know you. Just as crazy as you ever were. And, I will be watching you to see if you slip up in the next couple weeks. I can't give you your meds anymore, but I can certainly watch you closely." With that, she stomped off.

"OK. As always, you are just a ray of sunshine and a joy to be around, Ratchet."

"What'd we ever do to her?" Christa asked.

"I don't know. I think that her preference of working in a morgue was full, and she got transferred here."

"You think she wanted to work in a morgue?"

Dean looked down at Christa. "No. But, she has the personality of a corpse."

She opened her room door. "You mind coming in? I'm still feeling a little… I mean, I don't want to be alone."

"Sure." He walked inside her room and took a seat in the chair beside her bed. "Listen, Chris. Don't worry about Nurse Ratchet. There's a reason why several of us have nicknamed her that. She seems to use our illnesses as reason to punish us. But, there's not much she can do to you."

Christa was quiet for a few minutes while picking at the bed sheets. Then she looked up at Dean. "Rumor has it that you'll be getting out of here soon."

"Yeah, they're talking of letting me out of here in a few weeks. Any word on when you're planning on leaving?"

She chuckled dryly. "I'm probably never going to get out of here."

Dean frowned, puzzled. "I though you were here voluntarily."

"Yeah, I checked myself in."

"But, you're not planning on leaving here?"

"I know it sounds crazy, but what would I do? What are you planning on doing when you get out?"

"I don't know," Dean admitted.

She fell silent again. "I saw you talking to your mother and your fiancée the other day. Jessica is your fiancée's name, right?" At Dean's nod, she continued, "She seems real sweet. She loves you a lot. I've seen her look at you, and it's almost like there are stars in her eyes. I just wish I had someone look at me like that."

Dean sighed. "I've put both Mom and Jess through hell this last year. It's a wonder either of them even look at me, much less look at me with love."

She fell silent again, and then said, "You're so lucky. You have a family to support you. I have no one. No one will miss me if anything happens to me."

"I know that there has to be people who love you and are concerned about you."

She picked her bed sheets again. She looked up at Dean. "Can I ask you a question? What's so wrong about our delusions? Everyone has places in their minds that they go to when they're stressed out or when life is getting too rough. Everyone has obsessions. What's so wrong about ours?"

"Most people know the difference between what's real and what's imagination. We have some problems in determining that."

"But, who should really care if I see myself as a princess or you see yourself as a demon hunter with a brother? Who is it really hurting? We're the ones who have to live the rest of our lives with the stigma of 'mental illness' looming over us."

Dean rubbed the scars on his wrist. "You don't know who it affects."

"But how do you know that's real? How do you know this other life, the supposedly 'imagined' life isn't real? How do you know you're not really a demon hunter?"

"Because there are no such things."

"You believe that?" Dean looked away. "They got to you."

Dean stood up. "No one got to me, Chris. This is the real life. For better or worse. Get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

She barely looked up. "Bye, Dean," she said sadly.

* * *

The doctors were able to get Dean's fever down. However, Dean had fallen into a coma.

Sam didn't know what was the most frustrating: the fact that the doctors had no idea what caused the fever, the fact that they didn't know what damage—if any—had been caused, the fact that Dean was on life support, or the fact that they were suggesting to Sam that he take Dean off of life support and let him die.

Sam stood, watching his comatose brother. He knew that if he lived 90 years, he would never get over those times when Dean was dying.

Like the previous two times, Sam told himself that he would find a way to heal Dean, no matter the cost. Problem was, he didn't know where to start looking.

Bobby walked into the room, shaking his head. "Those damn doctors wouldn't know their own asses if they didn't have to scratch them every once in a while. No one has a clue what's going on here, Sammy. So, you're leading this. Where do you want to start?"

"I don't know. The bar he went to? The girl who gave him a card? What do you think I should do first?"

Bobby sighed. "I'd say to go back to the motel and get a little bit of sleep. You won't be good to Dean or to the investigation if you don't get some rest. I want to do some of my own investigation with the link between fevers and demonic activity. So, let's go. He's obviously not going to wake up soon."

He reached up and put his arm around Sam's shoulders and steered him out of the intensive care room. "Let's go. We'll be back tomorrow to see if Dean's doing any better before checking out that bar."

He pulled Sam out the door and into the Impala. "I'm driving, Sammy."

The car ride back to the motel was silent, but Sam's mind was screaming. For some odd reason, he kept coming back to the dream he had earlier that night. He wished he could see it more clearly. The only thing he kept coming back to was the feeling of dread and doom. And seeing a tombstone, which he was now convinced had Dean's name chiseled onto the stone face.

_I'm not going to make that tombstone come true._

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Yadda yadda yadda. Y'all know what I'm gonna say.

**Weight of the World **

Sam woke up in his bed and sat up. He had another dream, and this time he saw the tombstone. As he expected, it had Dean's name chiseled in it. He woke up determined that tombstone would never come true.

However, he still couldn't shake the feeling of dread and doom that kept plaguing him.

He looked over at Bobby, who was struggling on the laptop. "You boys don't carry books or anything useful like that, do you? Because this damn thing doesn't work right."

Sam rubbed his eyes. "How long have I been asleep?"

"A couple hours. Go back to sleep. I'll keep trying this infernal machine. See what I can find. In a couple hours, we'll go see how Dean is doing and get my pickup. I've got books in there. More user friendly."

"No, I'm up. Have you found anything yet?" Sam joined Bobby at the table.

"Well, I found this thing that mentions about poison and some sort of brain fever. I'm thinking that Dean's under some sort of demonic control. Don't know why I think that, seeing that we have no evidence of a possession or anything like that. Plus, this is going against the typical demonic M.O. that I'm used to. That's why this thing is a piece of shit and books are better."

Sam got up and grabbed the card he found in Dean's jacket. _Angela Devlyn._ He was suspicious of this girl, and he hadn't even laid eyes on her. "I wanna see what this girl knows," he said, holding up the card.

"OK, do you wanna talk to her first?"

"Well, after we check on Dean."

"Of course. That goes without saying, Sammy."

"Maybe we should check out the bar first, just to see what we're dealing with."

Bobby shoved the laptop away from him. "That's a good idea. I definitely want to check out the bar, because it seems to be some sort of focal point. This motel is two blocks away from it. And, the front page of the local paper has the story of a murdered guy. Found in the alley, two blocks away from the bar, with his throat sliced so deep his spinal cord was exposed. There are many monsters and demons who use that as their calling card. And, I don't believe the murder and what's going on with Dean are just coincidences, do you?"

"No, it can't be a coincidence."

* * *

Sam and Bobby stepped into the murky light of the empty bar. It seemed like it would be a popular place at night, but in the day, it was pathetic.

They walked up to the bartender, who was cleaning glasses. "Can I help you gentlemen?"

Bobby said, "Yeah, get us each a beer, and you know? I'll buy one for you as well."

Sam glanced at Bobby, confused. "I don't want a beer, but thanks. " He turned back to the bartender. "I want to ask you about a guy who came in here."

"What guy?"

Sam took out a picture of Dean that he had cut out of one of the fake ids. "This guy."

The bartender shoved the picture back. "What about him?"

"Did he talk to anyone or do anything unusual?"

"He sat on this bar stool the entire time he was here. Didn't talk to anyone."

At that point, Bobby excused himself to go to the bathroom.

_Bobby's acting strange. Well, stranger than usual. _Sam made a mental note to find out what the hell is going on.

"What do you mean he didn't talk to anyone? He got a card from a woman last night."

"Look, I was here all night. I saw this guy. And, I'm telling you, he was alone until he got a call that he took outside. He came back in, paid his tab, left."

Bobby came back to the room. "Sammy, if this man says that he was alone all night, he was alone all night. So, when are we getting those beers?"

The bartender leaned back. "Right here, sir."

"And, again, get one for yourself. It's on me." Bobby slapped some money on the bar.

"Thank you, sir. I'll get those." The bartender poured three beers from the tap into glasses and handed two of them over.

Bobby lifted his beer glass up. "Here's to your health."

The bartender lifted his glass up in a salute, then took a big gulp of the beer. Suddenly, he started gagging and dropped the glass, shattering it on the floor. Smoke started pouring out of him. He fell on his hands and knees in the spilled beer and glared up at Bobby and Sam with black eyes.

Bobby looked over at Sam before taking a second swallow of his beer. "A little holy water in the taps always does the trick. Remember?" He turned back to the bartender. "Now are you ready to tell us what we want to know?"

"He was here. Drank with my sister who poisoned his beer. He never even knew what was happening," the demon said behind his pained growls.

_Dean's been poisoned? _"Is there any sort of antidote?" Sam asked, jumping up and knocking over the bar stool, ready to beat the man senseless.

The demon growled again before escaping in a cloud of black smoke from the host's body.

The bartender looked up, confused. "Oh, God. I remember last night, but, I swear I couldn't do anything to stop it. She poisoned that guy? Is-is he alright?"

Sam hopped over the bar and grabbed the bartender. "Why'd you poison him!?" he roared in the man's face.

"I didn't do anything! I swear! She ordered the beer, I gave it to her, and then she asked for it to go to that guy."

"Then how do you know he was poisoned!?"

"I-I saw it. But, I couldn't do anything to stop it. I didn't have control of my own body! Do you have any idea what that's like? To be aware of something bad that's happening, and not be able to do anything about it?"

"Sammy, let him go. He couldn't help it." Bobby's voice whispered in Sam's ear, and he felt Bobby's hand pulling his arm away from the whimpering bartender on the floor.

Sam shakily took a step back, and he allowed the man to rise off the floor. He took out the card, "Do you know this woman?" he asked, showing the card to the bartender.

"No. I don't know that name. But, the woman who bought and poisoned the beer was a real looker. Brown hair, dressed real sexy. They drank together for a few minutes, he got a phone call and walked out. He came back in a couple minutes later, finished his beer—obviously the poisoned one, and left. I swear that's all I know."

* * *

She was about ready to walk in the door when she spotted Sam and Bobby sitting at the bar, looking on the floor on the other side of the bar. Although she couldn't see her brother, she saw smoke rising from the opposite side, and she heard her brother's growls through the door.

It helped to have excellent hearing and to know when her family was in pain.

Suddenly, she saw her brother come out of his host in the black cloud that marked their true forms.

_Coward_, she sneered to herself before walking away from the door. _He doesn't even know how to throw taunts and insults at them. And talk about running right when the going gets tough. _

She went to her host's apartment and waited for her brother to contact her that he found someone else to possess.

* * *

The storm outside woke Dean up from an already restless sleep. He glanced out of the window at the tree that was getting battered by the driving rain and wondered why he felt so anxious. Like something was happening beyond his control.

And, he wondered why that feeling bothered him so much. He should be used to things happening that was beyond his control.

He checked his watch. Nurse Ratchet should be off her shift, so it was probably safe to wonder out and chat with the other nurses that were assigned to this particular ward.

He rolled over and flipped his light on. On the floor by his door was a folded sheet of notebook paper. He got up and walked to the paper and unfolded it.

In Christa's curly handwriting, he read:

_Dean— _

_Thank you for being a good friend to me. You're a beautiful man, both inside and out. And, don't feel guilty at all by this. I had this planned a long time ago. I just never told anyone about it. I can't live like this—knowing that whatever I do, wherever I go, I'll have the mark of "mental illness" on me. And, I feel that no one can tell us what reality really is. What's real for someone may not be real to anyone else. _

_This isn't my reality. _

_As you said, we know we're crazy. There's hope for us. There's hope for you. You have a wonderful mother and a beautiful fiancée, both of whom love you so much. You have had so much pain in your life in your past that I know you'll find a way to make everything right for yourself in the future. You'll land on your feet. Me? I don't have a future. There are no loving family members for me. The only reason I committed myself is I had nowhere else to go. _

_I have a theory I'll share with you (well, you and the other members of our group): I think that if you take that final step, believing in your own Heaven or Hell, that's where you'll end up. _

_I'll soon find out, won't I? _

_Again, don't feel guilty. You didn't know my plans because I didn't share them. There was nothing you could pick up on. There was nothing you could do to stop me from this. _

_Make your mark on any reality that you choose to believe is real. _

_Goodbye. _

_Chris. _

_P.S. If anyone asks about why I did this, just tell them that Nurse Ratchet made fun of us one time too many. I have written incidents of everything she has said to us in group and what I've observed in private, hidden in my diary. It should get her fired, don't you think? _

Before he could get to the door of his room, "Code blue" alarms started to sound. He opened the door and ran out into the hallway, where nurses and doctors were flocking into Christa's room down the hall.

He raced down toward her door, seeing the other members of his group opening their doors, wondering what was going on. Some were holding identically folded notebook paper.

"Dean?" Kevin called. "What's going on?"

Nurse Ratchet appeared and blocked Dean from entering the room. "Go back to your room until we come for you."

Dean shoved Ratchet back against the door frame and entered the room. The first thing he noticed was Christa's body, covered by a bed sheet. Her bloody wrists made Dean's own wrists throb in sympathy.

"Anyone know how she got anything sharp enough to cut her wrists?" Dr. Hendrickson demanded. He looked up from Christa's body and spotted Dean. "Dean, you need to get out of here. I'll talk to you and the others later," he said as kindly as possible, given the circumstances.

He backed out of the room, remembering the conversation the evening before. _I could have talked her out of this. I should have stayed, talking her out of this idea. I could have encouraged her more. It should have been me. I'm not worthy of her friendship. _

He walked into the hall and met a baffled chorus of his other group members as well as other groups who joined to see what was going on. "Dean, what's going on? What's wrong with Chris?"

Dean pushed his way through the throng. "She's alright now." _As long as someone salts and burns her body. _

* * *

"It's really not your fault." Dr. Hendrickson watched Dean pace restlessly around his office.

Dean shrugged and continued his inspection of Hendrickson's pictures.

"She didn't give any warning signs. She didn't talk about death or wanting to harm herself in any way. You couldn't have predicted it. Hell, I've got several psychology degrees and extra letters in my name, as well as meeting with her individually twice a week, and I didn't pick up anything unusual."

Dean sat down in a chair and eyed the door while he tapped his foot on the ground.

"Are you going to be alright, Dean? We want to keep a close eye on everyone in Christa's group, but since you're so close to being released here, I need to know if you're going to be alright."

"Oh, yeah. I'm always alright. I'll always be alright."

"I know you talked to her last night, and we also know about the argument between her and Nurse Cooper that you stepped in and defused. Nurse Cooper has been suspended for 2 weeks without pay until we investigate and find if she played a part in Christa committing suicide." When Dean didn't answer, Hendrickson continued, "By the way, we found a broken piggy bank that we didn't know Christa had. She used shards for that to cut her wrists. But, again, there was no way you would have picked up that she was planning this."

Dean fingered Christa's letter in his pocket.

"Dean?"

"Look, I just want to go home, alright? I'm not going to do anything stupid, like not taking my meds or doing anything to hurt myself or anyone around me. As she said, I've got a family who loves me, and she didn't have that. And, Christa's real problem came from not being able to accept that this is reality. I understand that. As difficult as it is, I know that this is the real world. So, you really don't have to worry about me."

Dr. Hendrickson studied Dean for a moment, then leaned back in his chair. "OK. Maybe it would be better if you got out of here sooner than planned. I'll start drawing up your release papers now."

TBC

A/N: For once, I think I got Sam's half right. Dean's stumped me. It usually is the other way around. This plot bunny, that I thought I salted and burned has come back, and is twisting my already completed story so that it's taking a new direction. And, it's telling me that Dean's half is important. I pointed out my completed story, and it sneered at me! So, maybe I should trust it?

Again, thank you for reading and reviewing.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Don't sue me, Kripke. It's all yours. I'm just having a little fun with your toys.

**Weight of the World**

Sam walked into Dean's hospital room, carrying a shopping sack, feeling exhausted. Bobby was still trying to research Angela Devlyn, because they couldn't find anything of this woman in the town.

Dean was still in a coma. Machines beeped, telling Sam that his brother was still alive, although Sam eyed the machines nervously, knowing that if a machine happened to fail, Dean would probably die.

A doctor came in, carrying Dean's files. He came to a stop in front of Sam and shuffled nervously. "Mr. Warren? I'm Dr. Davenport. I'm one of your brother's attendings. Are you here to check up on him?"

_Obviously not the smartest attending on staff, is he? _"Yeah. Has there been any change?"

"Yeah. He's gotten worse. He's weakening. And, I know you've been advised this before, but we really think you should take him off of life support. To be blunt, he's already dead. So, let him die with dignity."

Sam glared at the doctor, but couldn't find his voice to say that there's no way Dean's going to die like this. Not now. Not ever.

Dr. Davenport nervously cleared his throat. "I'll leave you alone with him."

Sam shuffled the bag. "Um, Dean, the doctors say that you're going to die. But, I'm doing everything I can to prevent it. But, I also need to know that you're fighting with me. So, this worked last time. It doesn't hurt to try it again."

He pulled out a Ouija board out of his bag and sat on the floor, smiling to himself as he thought of Dean's reaction to this. _But, it worked last time, so I hope it'll work this time._

He unfolded the board and put the pointer down and lightly rested his fingertips on the pointer. He took a deep breath. "Dean? Are you here?"

The pointer didn't move.

Sam hesitated, then tried again. "Dean?"

The pointer slowly started to move, and Sam felt a relieved grin come over him.

"_No."_

Sam felt his smile drop. "Do you know where Dean is?"

The pointer moved again. _"No."_

Sam wondered what his next question should be, seeing that Dean was not communicating with him, when the pointer started moving on its own accord. _"D-E-A-D."_

"Dean's not dead!" _People and spirits need to stop saying that!_

The pointer moved again. _"A-L-O-N-E."_

"What do you mean, 'Alone'?"

The pointer moved again. _"U-R"_

"'You are.' Me? I'm alone? What are you saying?"

The pointer hadn't stopped its creepy movement during Sam's outburst. It finished. _"M-I-N-E."_

Sam picked up the pointer and threw it across the room. He sat back down, shaking and sweating. As he struggled to catch his breath, he started hearing the beeps on Dean's machines again. They started sounding weird.

He looked up, just as Dean's heart monitor gave a solid, piercing shriek as it recorded a flat line.

"Dean?" Sam scrambled up, just as a flurry of doctors and nurses came running in, talking over each other. One doctor started chest compressions as he yelled for a defibrillator.

A nurse yanked on Sam's arm and pulled him out of the room. Sam watched the activity from the doorway as Dean's body jumped with every electric shock.

_Not again! _He screamed out in his head, feeling tears sting his eyes. _Dear God, not again!_

* * *

She walked into the hospital and looked around, looking for her brother. She felt the vial of red liquid in her purse and smiled to herself. That was her ace in the hole if something went wrong, although she had been taught by her father never to plan for the worst. She couldn't help it. She was a planner.

She heard her brother talking to someone in the room down the hall and leaned up against the nurses' station to wait.

Her brother came out of the room and spotted her. He strutted up to her, obviously enjoying his new host body.

She frowned. "You're a doctor now?"

He grinned. "Yep. Dr. Davenport now, and don't you forget it, missy."

She focused on his badge. "_You're _a doctor?"

"What are you trying to say?"

"Nothing. Just thought you needed some sort of brains in order to be a doctor."

He didn't answer her. Instead, he grabbed her arm. "Listen, I'm one of Dean's attendings. Perfect spot to monitor him, wouldn't you say? And, I've been feeding Sam with ideas that he should just go ahead and pull the plug on Dean. And, come with me. Let's watch what unfolds."

"Well, if you're able to keep your eye on Dean that way, I must say I'm impressed. And, here I thought you were a coward for fleeing from Sammy." She walked with him to Dean's door and watched Sam open a Ouija board box.

"He doesn't look so good, does he?" her brother hissed in her ear.

"Which one? They both don't look very well," she whispered back.

They turned their attention back on the Ouija board. Although they couldn't quite hear what Sam was asking it, it was obviously not giving him the answers he was wanting. Suddenly, he threw the pointer across the room.

"Are you doing this?" her brother asked.

"No. But, I'm enjoying it."

Suddenly, alarms started blaring from the nurses' station, and all the nurses and some doctors around the area rushed into Dean's room.

"Did you arrange this, big brother?"

"Yep. Now aren't you impressed with me?"

"I'm getting there."

He stepped away from her. "I better get in there. Must keep up appearances." He walked into Dean's room as Sam was getting shoved out.

She walked off, listening to the beautiful shrieks of the blaring alarms. She just needed to find a suitable vessel to inform father of these events, even though she wondered if father himself was the one giving Sammy those answers. And, even though she hated the idea of killing someone else in cold blood to talk to father.

_Still, he'll be so proud, _she told herself as she walked out of the door.

* * *

"_Dean? Are you here?" _

Dean opened his eyes and rolled over in his bed. It had been a couple months since he had even dreamed of hunting. Or of Sam. Now, Sam was starting to wake him up again.

_Leave me alone, Sammy._

He turned on his light, illuminating his childhood bedroom. Sports trophies, yearbooks, pictures, as well as some old model cars cast eerie shadows on the wall.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. He didn't remember the dream that woke him up. Just Sam asking if he was around.

He walked out of his room, which still felt familiar yet uncomfortable, even though he had been home in Lawrence for about a week.

As he walked down the hall to the stairs, he spotted a light on in his mother's office and heard Beatles music softly playing. He wandered over to her doorway and watched her chew the top of a pen as she read what she typed on the computer.

Dean wondered how he could tell her he was there without startling her when she glanced up towards him and jumped.

"Sorry, Mom. I didn't mean to scare you," he said as he stepped into the room.

"That's alright, Baby. Couldn't sleep, huh?" she asked as she took off her glasses and leaned back in her chair.

He sat down in a chair and put his feet up on the other chair. "Obviously, you couldn't either."

"Well, I'm really behind on grading these tests. Plus, I have some research to do on my book."

Dean picked up a typed batch of papers stapled together. "Since when do you let your students type their tests?"

"Since I discovered that I couldn't decipher their handwriting without having the Rosetta Stone with me. And, it's hard to ask my TAs to try to figure out the students' handwriting either. So, I give them their test papers a week ahead of time, which allows them to proofread their papers. Or, so that's the theory."

Dean shifted through the tests. "This is your gen ed history class, right?" He skimmed through a paper. "Here's a mistake, Mom. 'The South raised _taxis_ to help with their war effort against the North'."

She laughed. "Obviously meant 'taxes.' Circle it for me, and I'll determine if I'll let it go as just a typo. It really depends on the quality of the essay."

"Well, if the North met an army of yellow cabs, the Battle of Gettysburg probably would have gone differently." He put the paper down.

"And, if he would have argued it that way, he might get a good grade. I tell my students that they can give me any sort of bullshit they want, and if they can argue it effectively, they'll get a better grade."

Dean fell silent, and Mary turned back to the computer. "So, what are you planning on doing tomorrow?" she asked.

"Jess and I are heading to KC. I have an appointment with Dr. Hendrickson early afternoon. Then, we might see if we can't catch a Royals' game or something before heading back. She wants to go shopping on the Plaza." He motioned to the notebooks Mary was reading from. "So, what's your book about?"

She leaned back in her chair again and sighed. "Supposedly haunted cemeteries and houses here in Kansas. I've been to Stull a lot, of course. Been to the Eldridge Hotel, and I still can't find the ghosts that haunt it. But, there are some great ghost stories all around Kansas. There's a ghost in Wichita that throws loaves of bread whenever it wants to be noticed. However, right now, I don't have a thesis. So, I'm pretty much working blind."

"You'll find your topic, Mom. You always do. After all, you're the best urban legend historian around."

"Thanks, Baby." She chuckled softly, and then muttered, "Yeah, right," under her breath as she turned back to the computer.

Dean listened to the soft clacks of the keys for a few minutes. "Mom, I'm sorry."

She stopped typing and looked at Dean. "Baby, don't ever be sorry. About anything. I wish that life didn't have to be like it is, you know?" Her voice choked up, and she cleared her throat. "It's been a shitty year, hasn't it?"

Dean chuckled dryly. "You have no idea."

"Well, between losing your dad and everything…."

Dean played with a staple on a test paper. "Do you ever wish that I were, you know, Sammy?" At Mary's alarmed look, he amended his thought. "You know, do you ever miss Sammy? Do you ever think about him?"

"I think about him every day, Dean. Wondering what he would have been like. But, I never got to know him. I know _you_. I love _you_, Dean. And, although it would have been nice if you would have kept up with your meds after Dad died, I absolutely never wished that you were Sammy. The thought never even crossed my mind. I love you, and I'm so proud of you."

Dean gave her a half smile, then went back to playing with the stable on the paper. She watched him shift awkwardly for a couple minutes. "Something else on your mind, hon?"

Dean dropped the paper. "No. Not really. Just thinking."

"About what? You know you can tell me anything, don't you? You keep everything so bottled up, but I'm here to talk to."

"I was in Sammy's nursery the night he died. I heard him die." He began awkwardly.

"What?"

The memory unfolded like Dean was watching a scene from a movie. He could see all the details, even his footie pajamas. "You and Dad gave Sammy a stuffed animal of mine that I never played with. A stupid blue horse that probably burned up in that fire. But, I suddenly wanted that horse. So, I snuck into his nursery that night to get that horse. I heard Sammy breathe. There was a horrible rattle in his breath. I'm still surprised that it didn't wake you and Dad up. I thought about getting you or Dad, but then the rattle stopped. I went back to sleep. Dad woke me up the next morning and told me that Sammy died. Well, he said that Sammy went to Heaven. Same thing."

Mary's eyes filled with tears. "You never told me about this before."

"No. To be honest, I just wanted to forget it. And, I did. And, if I would have woken you two up, Sammy would still be alive."

"Is-is that why you gave your delusions of Sam part of your life? Because you somehow feel guilty of Sammy's death? Dean, he died of S.I.D.S. If I were in the room, there would have been very little I could have done to save him. You feel too much guilt, Dean. About everything. I've had 23 years to grieve for Sammy, and I've come to the conclusion that sometimes bad things happen to innocent people."

"Yeah, I know."

"Yet you insist on beating yourself up over everything. Like your friend at the hospital? I know you're tearing yourself up about that. Or Dad's death? You don't talk about it, but I suspect that you feel that you're somehow responsible for his accident. Even though you were in California at the time."

"I know."

She sighed and saved her research on her book. "You scare me, Dean. Honey, I love you so much, and you're the only family I have left. But, you terrify me. You've caused me so many sleepless nights, worrying that it's my fault, wondering if you'll be alive tomorrow. The two worst nights I've ever spent was the night your father died and the night that you almost died. It was a long time before I could go into the upstairs bathroom and not see your blood everywhere, in spite of retiling. I still get flashes of it. However, I believe in you. I know your strength, your courage. I'm so proud of you."

Dean felt his chest tighten. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, feeling like a scared child again. _Funny how that feeling never goes away._

"I know." She stood, walked to him, and hugged him. "You'll be fine. I know you will."

Dean pulled away from her hug. For some reason, it felt awkward. A quick flash of imagination ran through his mind. An image of him holding a shaking rifle on his mother, and Mary turning away from him and going up in flames suddenly appeared.

He went back to his room and laid down, bothered by the quick flash of Mary. It felt more than a memory of a repressed delusion or dream. He was also bothered by the memory of Sam's death. It felt like a movie that he could fast forward and rewind. Although he remembered it clearly, it still felt wrong.

_Something isn't right here…_

TBC

A/N: When I was getting my Master's at Oklahoma State University, I was a Teaching Assistant in gen ed history classes. These are some real answers that I got on tests.

I also need to put in a plug for a book called "Haunted Kansas," which has ghost stories from all around Kansas. I'm hoping she writes a sequel, because that is one fascinating book.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: OK, I want to repeat: I wrote this story in season 2. This was before we knew that Sam gave Dean the amulet. Just a reminder. Any mistakes against things that have been revealed after season 2 ended is just do to the fact that I didn't know. Season 3 and Season 4 hadn't happened yet.

Disclaimer: Nope. Still don't own it.

**Weight of the World**

Sam sat on the floor in front of Dean's room, to shaky to get up. Although they were able to get Dean's heart started again and were able to stabilize him, Sam was terrified of the next time Dean's heart would stop again.

He fingered the papers he had been given to read and sign if he agreed to take Dean off of life support. Just his signature. That's all it would take to officially kill Dean. "To let him die with dignity."

Sam put the papers down and rubbed his eyes. He lowered his hand to see Bobby coming toward him.

"Hey Bobby. Got any good news for me?"

Bobby sat down beside Sam. "Well, I found something. First, how's Dean?"

Sam blinked back sudden tears. "His heart stopped. The doctors think that a machine had a glitch and stopped working. They have him on another machine. But, I'm wondering if it matters much, though. Should I just go ahead and let him die?"

Bobby sighed, "Well, Sammy, it's up to you. I can't tell you what to do. What I can tell you is that these doctors are not looking in the right place, since they're assuming Dean is suffering from something that can be cured through their own medicine. That's not going to happen, particularly since they don't know what's wrong. So we have to find an antidote for the poison that the demons gave him. To do that, we need to find the demon who gave him the poison, right? I think once we find the antidote, Dean's body will heal. That's my theory, anyways."

"How do you know the demon would have an antidote? Why assume that there is an antidote?"

"All poisons have an antidote. Plus, demons, although evil and fierce, are cowards. But, they also are tricky. I think they're just messing with the both of you. Testing your reactions. Because of that, they have to have something up their sleeve, in case this doesn't work. I'm willing to lay down money that they have some sort of a reversal method in order to try something else. Does that make sense?"

"Why test our reactions? And why do it like this?" Sam leaned back against the wall. "They're trying to separate us, aren't they?"

"Looks like it."

"So, why attack Dean like this?" A thought suddenly hit Sam. "You know, almost every time I've been away from Dean, I've met with a demon-possessed person or met another kid with powers similar to mine. Or I get possessed myself. Or have some other thing to do with the yellow-eyed bastard."

"What about Oregon?"

"That's the exception. My point is, what if having Dean around is the key not to make me evil? He keeps saying that he'll protect me and that killing me is only a last resort. So, what if the demons know this vow?"

"It's possible."

"And if that's the case, why would they keep Dean alive? Why have an antidote that could heal Dean?"

"Because demons are stupid. Because I think they underestimate Dean. Because I just want to find out if they do. I could be wrong, but I don't think I am."

Sam sighed and leaned back against the wall again. "You said you found something?"

Bobby pulled out a picture. "I went back to the bar. The bar has cameras, apparently because they were robbed in the past. The bartender was very happy to show me the tapes from last night. And, I got a picture of the woman who was possessed by the demon who poisoned Dean. She's the only one who Dean seemed to talk to at the bar."

"Do we have an address?"

Bobby pulled out a piece of paper. "You know, that stupid computer of yours isn't all that bad. I don't have an address, but I do have a place of work. Sam, she's a biological chemist."

"Which would fit in well with the poison and if there's an antidote."

"This demon may actually be smart. She picked a host with knowledge about the body and chemistry."

"Well, maybe she does know something about how to heal Dean."

"Yep. Let's talk to her." Bobby looked over at Sam, then struggled to stand up. "But, first, you need to get some sleep."

He held out his hand to Sam, who grabbed it. Bobby pulled him to his feet.

* * *

The receptionist looked at the police badges Sam and Bobby held. "How can I help you, officers?"

Sam put the badge away. "We're looking for this woman," he said, sliding over the picture from the bar. "We think she's an employee here."

The receptionist looked at the picture. "She looks familiar. Let's see. Angela, right? Has she done something wrong?"

"We just need to talk to her."

The receptionist started accessing her database of employee files. "Here she is. Angela Devlyn. It appears she's on a leave of absence, though. Starting last month."

Sam felt a wave of disappointment. "Does it say for how long?"

"No. I'm sorry, officer."

"Do you know where she lives? It's very important that we talk to her."

"I can't access personal records, such as addresses, without my boss's password. And, he's out of the office for the rest of this week. I'm sorry. You said that you just needed to talk to her, right? So, I want to see if I can't access her phone number for you."

She typed a few things on the keyboard, then wrote on a piece of paper. "Here you go. Her phone number." She handed it to him. "I hope that she hasn't done anything wrong. She's a nice girl. A real sweetheart."

Sam and Bobby thanked her for her help and left the building.

They got into the Impala. Sam immediately reached for his cell phone and dialed the number. He got an answering machine. He hung up without leaving a message.

"We'll keep trying," Bobby said.

"Yeah, I know we will." Sam started the car.

"Let's go check on Dean." Bobby sat back in the seat.

Sam sighed. _I don't know how much more of this I can take!_

* * *

Dean was a man on a mission. He forgot where he put his journals when he got back to Lawrence, but suddenly, he was desperate to find them. He knew some of his scribblings happened while he was having his delusions. And he was wanting to read them. Mostly to see if his random, terrifying flashes of thought, like Mary going up in flames or the feel of bullets, both salt and lead, invading his body, were just delusions that haven't quite left him yet.

_These flashes can't be anything more than that. I just don't want to increase my meds! But, if I have to, I guess I'll have to. Although that would suck out loud. _The idea of choking down more horse pills didn't appeal to him.

He pulled out a notebook and flipped it open. He could barely read his own scrawl. _OK, this is telling me nothing._

He threw the notebook back and heard a soft "clink" as the metal spring hit something. He pulled the notebook out again and pulled out a leather necklace with a gold amulet.

He held the amulet up and watched the light play on its gold surface. He couldn't remember where he got the amulet from. Or when he got it. But, he knew it was his, and he knew it was powerful, although he didn't quite remember how he knew it. It was like it was in the back of his mind, just waiting to get out, if he could only find a key to unlock that memory.

A car pulled up to the house, and Dean looked out to see Jess's car pull up. He put the necklace in his pocket as he walked down stairs. _She's welcome to stay here now that I'm home. Why does she insist on staying in a motel now?_

He opened the door, and Jess stepped inside and gave him a kiss. He quickly backed up, and a look of disappointment quickly crossed her face. It was quickly replaced by a sad smile, but she said brightly, "So, what are we doing today?"

"Well, I don't know what you're doing, but Mom has set up an interview for me with the head of the KU law school. So, that's this afternoon. This morning? I thought I'd just roam around."

"Y-you're not going back to Stanford? I was hoping that you were going to go back with me when I leave."

Dean sighed. "Jess, to be honest, I don't know what I'm going to do. This is Mom's idea, and I'm just obliging her. I don't want to go to KU, but right now, I don't want to go back to Stanford. Not just yet anyways. I'll probably go back, but there are things that I have to figure out first." He cleared his throat. "So, when are you going back to Palo Alto?"

"In two weeks. I have to redo this semester, but I figured I can now, since I know you're finally OK. You are OK, aren't you?"

"Of course I am. I just need to figure out some things." He fingered the key in his pocket and followed her to the living room. "Hey, Jess, have you seen me wear this before?"

He pulled out the amulet. She took it and frowned at it. "No. What is it?"

"It's a protection amulet."

She glanced up at him. "It looks weird. And, it's really not you. You're not a necklace guy."

He took it back and fingered it. "Supposedly, it's worn by a protector. That goddess—and I can't remember her name right now—gives the chosen wearer strength to continue in a fight between good and evil. The chosen wearer, a protector, acts as a shield and sword in this fight."

Jess looked at him, alarmed. "Dean, are you having hallucinations again? Are you keeping up with your meds?" She got up. "I'm calling Dr. Hendrickson."

He grabbed her hand. "Jess, I'm not having hallucinations. I'm taking all my pills. This is a myth. I'm telling you about this myth. I don't remember where it's from. I don't even remember when I first heard it. I also don't know why I have this amulet. But, I do know what the story behind it is." He put it back in his pocket. "I probably read the story in one of Mom's history books about the truth of myths or something."

She sat back down. "OK, so when you were in the grips of your delusions, did you buy that amulet or anything, thinking it was more important than it actually is?"

"Not that I remember." He held it up again. "It's pretty cool, don't you think?"

Jess hugged herself and drew her knees up to her chest. "Not really. I think it's creepy. Besides, say you got this because in your delusions you saw yourself as a protector of something. It doesn't mean anything now. It's just a weird necklace."

"I guess you're right." He stood and went into the kitchen to grab a Coke.

She followed him. "If you have it, does that mean you're some sort of protector?"

Dean popped open the top. "It's just a necklace. It might not mean anything."

"But you think it does, right?"

Dean didn't answer. He didn't know an answer to give.

Jess continued, "Who are you protecting?"

"I don't know. No one around me now, that's for sure."

"Can I ask you another question?"

Dean chuckled softly, "Of course."

"Why did you think I was Sam's girlfriend in your delusions? Why did you end up pinning me to the ceiling and burning me alive?"

Dean sighed. "I don't know."

"Is it because we were arguing? It seems like we argued a lot more after we got engaged, doesn't it?"

Dean couldn't answer.

Jess wiped a tear away from her cheek. "Can you do me a favor?"

"If I can."

"Get rid of that necklace. It's a relic from your delusions. From when you were sick. From when I knew you were going to die. So, please, if you love me, get throw that necklace away. It really creeps me out."

She went over to him and put her arms around him. He hugged her back. "You're shaking," he whispered into her hair. "Why are you so afraid? It's just a tiny hunk of metal."

"Because I'm scared that you'll go back to your delusions if you keep it," Jess mumbled against his shoulder and tightened her hold on Dean. "I know that's not a rational feeling, but that's what scares me."

Dean gently rocked her in his arms as a way to answer. He wasn't sure if he could just throw away the necklace. If anything else, it was a part of his past.

* * *

Dean needed to get out of the house and blow off some steam. A walk sounded good. The weather couldn't have been better.

Jessica opted to go with him, so they walked down the streets, mostly in silence. They stopped at the Strip to get some coffee. A few college students were around, but it was mainly dead.

"So, where are we going?" Jess asked.

"I don't really have a destination in mind. Just wandering around." Dean pointed down the street. "See that bar? That's a wonderful place to hustle college kids at pool. Most are pretty naïve when it comes to hustlers."

"You do a lot of hustling, Dean?" Jess gave him an amused grin.

"Actually, yeah. My pool skills bought me my first car. My poker and pool skills combined allowed me to live without taking out student loans for a year at Stanford. Of course, I had to sneak out of the house and then sneak into the bar. The trick of a fake ID is not to exaggerate your age too much. Plus, the KU student IDs were pretty easy to fake when I was in high school. I think they've changed now." Dean chuckled. "I got busted by Dad in my senior year. He caught me sneaking back in. I thought I was dead. Oh, I was grounded, but Dad said, 'Make sure you don't lose too much money'. He was like that."

"Did he teach you how to shoot pool and play poker?"

"Yeah."

She sighed. "You must miss him a lot."

"I do."

They turned a corner and found themselves at the cemetery. Dean started walking onto the grounds. "Dean, no," Jess protested.

He turned. "You don't have to come with me. I won't be long."

He walked back into the cemetery without seeing if Jess was coming with him. He navigated to the plot from memory.

He stopped at the two tombstones. The first one, a little stone marker, read "Samuel Winchester, May 2, 1983-November 2, 1983. Our angel gone too soon."

The second one, a headstone, read "John Winchester, 1952-2007. Loving husband and father."

Dean looked at the other half of the stone block. "Mary Winchester, 1954-"

_1983_. Dean wasn't sure why that year came to his head. _Probably because I just looked at Sammy's marker._

He stepped back and looked at all three headstones. He felt so alone.

He glanced up at a plot near the Winchester plot. A woman was standing in front of two graves. She laid toys on both graves.

Dean walked up to the woman. She wiped tears from her eyes.

"Hi," Dean said softly.

"Hi."

"I'm Dean."

She sniffled. "I'm Jenny."

He looked down at the graves. Two kids, a boy and a girl. Sari and Richie. They died the same day a year ago. "Oh, I'm so sorry," he said awkwardly. He nervously shifted his weight. _I feel like I've talked to her before. Like I'm responsible for this. But, how can that be?_

"Thank you." She sniffed. "I think they would have liked their toys, don't you?"

"I hope you don't mind me asking. If it's too personal, just tell me, but what happened to them?"

She wiped her eyes again. "I don't know. Our house. Something happened. They were in their beds, then our house started to shake. Like it was an earthquake. But, that's stupid because it's Kansas, right? But, when I got to their rooms, they were dead. Something killed them, but nobody believes me. Do you know I was under investigation for their murders? Like I could kill my own babies."

"Was it a poltergeist?" Dean couldn't believe the question came out of his mouth.

"Like the movie? That's kind of what it seemed like."

"Dean?" Jess suddenly appeared at his side. "You have that interview in about an hour."

He turned back to Jenny. "I'm so sorry for your loss," he said, feeling lame, like he could have done something to prevent this tragedy.

"Thank you."

Dean and Jess walked out of the cemetery together. Jess whispered to him, "You don't want to hang around the child murderer, do you?"

"You think she murdered her kids?"

"Well, there ended up being no proof. But, c'mon. Her house did it? Please. You know, she goes to the same church as your mother. Maybe you can ask her how crazy this psychopath is. Although, your mother did say it was weird. This woman moved into your old rebuilt house. Well, her house was on the lot your old house was."

Dean stopped walking. "What?"

"Yeah, isn't that a strange coincidence?" Jess looked at him. "What?"

"I should have stopped it. I could have prevented it."

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: I've been taking inventory of my stories, trying to figure out which ones I should repost. Before I pulled them down, I had 45 Supernatural stories. I'm not putting them all back up. But, I have some one-shots and some other multichapter stories that I think I'll repost for a while. Bear in mind: I love playing around in dreams. That seems to be my little quirk.

**Weight of the World**

The interview didn't go all that well, but Dean really didn't care. He knew that his mother would be disappointed, but he hadn't ever wanted to go to KU. Not that it wasn't a great school; it was just a little too familiar.

And, he had to admit to himself that the interview probably didn't go well due to the fact that he had other things on his mind.

He raced up to his room and pulled out his journals again. Although most of his writing was completely illegible, he started catching names and places.

Including the names of the woman he met in the cemetery and her dead kids.

A quick search of the names and places on Google helped him fill in the blanks. At least partly. Several people seemed to disappear without a trace on a certain stretch of highway near Jericho, California. There was a rash of murder/suicides at an abandoned asylum in Rockford, Illinois. A family dead after a mysterious fire in Salvation, Illinois. A strange rash of deaths caused from eyes practically liquefying in Toledo, Ohio. A drained lake caused the deaths of two families in Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin. He also found several obituaries and tributes to names that he had scribbled in his journals.

All names and stories he felt like he should know, although he couldn't see the connection.

Dean sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes as he regarded his scribbles and the computer screen. _I was there, _he thought to himself. He could see faces connected to names.

He stood up, restless, his thoughts swirling. _What the hell is wrong with me? _He sat back down at the computer and typed in the names of the medications he was on. Four out of the five medications seemed to be powerful hallucinogens.

_Why would medications known to be hallucinogens be prescribed to a schizophrenic? Wouldn't that be defeating its purpose? Wouldn't that make me crazier? Or at least less in touch with reality?_

"Dean?" Mary's voice interrupted Dean's agitated pacing. He turned, startled. She continued, "What are you doing in here?"

Dean cleared his throat. "Just looking some things up on-line."

"How was the interview?" She pushed away from the doorway and entered the room.

"Well, I didn't get into KU. But, I might still be able to get to Stanford."

"How about Washburn? You could try there? Or UMKC?"

Dean sat down. "Are you trying to keep me in or near Kansas, Mom?"

She shrugged and grinned. "Let's just say that I would to have you around. Since I've now got my son back?"

"It's not because you're wanting to keep your eye on me, is it?"

She sighed and her grin faded. "Yes."

"Oh." Dean couldn't think of anything to say.

She shifted uncomfortably. "I'm going to start dinner. Just…forget I said anything, Dean. I can't tell you what to do. I can only hope you do the right thing for yourself."

She left the room, and Dean sat for a few minutes. _Do the right thing for myself? What is the right thing?_ He reached into his pocket and drew out the necklace. He studied it. _The protector..._

Christa's suicide letter popped into his head. _I wonder if she's right. If you really believe in whatever Heaven or Hell, that's where you'll end up when you die. _Dean shook his head. _I need to snap out of his._

He slipped on the necklace and walked downstairs. For a few moments, he watched Mary in the kitchen, suddenly feeling like he was four years old again.

She looked over at him and raised an eyebrow. "What? You're looking at me like you've never seen me do this before."

"It's been a long time." He stepped into the kitchen. "Hey, Mom? I met that woman who lives where our old house used to be. Her kids were killed?"

"That's so sad, isn't it? She's such a nice lady. Her children were so cute."

Dean sat down at the table. "So, what happened to them?"

"I don't know for sure. According to Jenny, the house started shaking, and when she went to get her kids out of the house, she was locked in her room. She had to break her bedroom window to get out. She climbed around to get to her kids' rooms. When she got to her kids, they were dead. So sad." Mary sighed. "I can understand the pain she's going through."

"You sound like you believe her story."

"I do. I don't know why, but I do." She joined Dean at the table. "Maybe it's because I think things like that are possible."

Dean sat back. "What things?"

She gave an embarrassed smile. "Supernatural things. I mean, I've never seen a ghost in all the years I've researched haunted places. But, I'm still fascinated by them. But, there were some strange things that happened at that house before the fire."

"Like what?"

"Oh, lights going off or on by themselves. Sometimes I would hear moans and groans. A friend at the university who believed in séances and psychic energies came in and detected some unusual presences. You used to have nightmares of a yellow-eyed man in your closet when you were three and four years old. In fact, you had those nightmares until we moved here."

"Dad let you have séances?"

Mary laughed. "Oh, God, no. Your dad was at work during them. I never told him about them. He never believed in all that 'supernatural crap,' as he called it."

"But you believe in them?" Dean couldn't believe it.

"Yeah. As Shakespeare said, 'There are more things in Heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.' Do you believe in the supernatural?"

"Yeah, I do."

She sat back and studied Dean. "I'd like you to talk to my friend. She's still around here, but no longer at the university. She's not a psychiatrist. Far from it. But, maybe she can be someone to talk to about what you're feeling. A neutral party."

"Sure. I'll talk to her."

Mary stood up and grabbed a piece of paper. She scribbled a name and address on the paper, then handed it to Dean.

He looked at it, feeling uncomfortable. "Her name's Missouri?"

Mary nodded.

He played with the paper, wondering why he felt so uncomfortable. He also wondered why this woman's name was so familiar.

_Maybe she'll be able to help me._

* * *

Sam walked to Dean's room and stopped in surprise. A doctor was standing over Dean's bed, reading his chart.

And Dean was awake.

Sam walked into the room and glanced at the doctor, who put down the chart and regarded Sam.

Sam looked down at his brother, who weakly rolled his eyes over to Sam.

Sam grabbed a pillow, and Dean said, "Don't." His voice was so weak and soft.

Sam glanced up at the doctor, then back at Dean. "I'm sorry, Dean," he whispered.

He shoved the pillow over Dean's face as hard as he could. Dean struggled, but the fever had left him so weak that it was no match.

His struggles soon ceased, and the heart monitor sounded a solid tone. The doctor reached over and turned off the heart monitor.

Sam held the pillow over Dean's face for a few more minutes, making sure Dean was not breathing, and he pulled the pillow away.

Dean looked so peaceful when he was dead.

Sam straightened and looked back at the doctor. The doctor's eyes glowed a sunny, warm yellow. "Good job, my son. You're mine now."

Sam woke up with a yell, knocking the blanket some nice nurse must have put over him. He sat in the chair, trembling and sweating, listening to the steady hiss of Dean's respirator.

He drew a shaky hand across his eyes. _That dream was so real! Oh, my God, is Dean in danger from me again? Maybe I should leave. Dean might be safer if I'm not around._

A shadow in the doorway caught his eye. He looked up in time to see the shadow quickly move across the doorway and disappear.

Sam scrambled up and ran out of the door. He looked down the empty hallway to see a dark-haired woman hurriedly walking up the hallway to the exit.

"Hey!" He called after her.

She looked behind her at Sam and broke into a run.

_Son of a bitch! She's that Angela Devlyn! Why was she watching Dean and me?_

Sam raced after her, alternating between dodging and tripping over everything she grabbed and threw into his path.

"Somebody help me! He's after me!" She yelled panicky. She ran into the parking lot, screaming.

Sam momentarily hesitated, knowing that this would look very bad for him. But, he needed answers, and she was the only one who had them.

He ran out the door after her.

From the corner of his eye, Sam saw Bobby's truck pull around, blocking her path, and he started slowing to a walk. Bobby was out of his truck in an instant, heading to her.

She hissed at him, and looked over her shoulder at Sam walking up to them. When he got close enough, she swung at him, raking her fingernails across his face. He stepped back and wiped blood away from his cheek as she turned back to Bobby in time to get his rifle butt in her face.

She fell to the ground, unconscious.

Bobby stepped around her inert body and examined Sam's bloody cheek. "Are you alright, Sammy?"

"Yeah. How'd you know she was going to be here?"

"I got a hold of her car information and was coming to get you when I saw her car in the parking lot, right before she came bursting out of the door."

He looked down at her. "Sammy, meet Angela Devlyn."

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: It continues. First, I don't own Supernatural. I don't have Kripke's ear. Any similarities between this and "What Is and What Never Should Be" is really coincidental. I promise. Really. I can show you dated notes. My bunny is sitting in the corner, crying its little eyes out. But, I promised I'd finish it, so I'll finish it how I was going to finish it. Please don't sue me.

**Weight of the World**

She woke up to her head pounding with an insanely loud bass drum beat in her head. She groggily moved her head up, hitting the back of the chair she was tied to and glared up at Sam looming over her. She also caught sight of a Devil's Trap above Sam's head.

"You wouldn't happen to have an aspirin or anything on you, would you? Because, this headache is a bitch."

Sam leaned down and got in her face. "Tell you what, you tell me that you've got a cure for my brother, and I'll consider giving you an aspirin. If not, then I'll just have to send you back to hell."

She spit in his face. He stood back up and wiped his face. He nodded at Bobby, who opened the book that contained the standard exorcism. She followed Sam's nod and glared at Bobby.

"You start reciting anything in Latin, I'll make sure I'll torture you first when I crawl my way out of hell. I'll have you spewing pea soup from every hole in your body. In fact, I'll make you new ones that pea soup will pour out of them.

Bobby shrugged and started the recitation.

She growled in frustration and anger and turned back to Sam. "Your brother's dead! Or as good as dead! Even if he's not dead now, what makes you think he wants to come back to your sorry, whiny 'woe-is-me-I-have-a-destiny' ass?"

Bobby continued the recitation, and her head started to jerk around.

Bobby stopped the recitation and marked his place while her head stopped jerking and her breathing slowed. Sam leaned back down. "Do you have an antidote for Dean?"

She glared up at him. "You'll never get it. And, it doesn't really matter. We want him dead. We need your brother dead."

"_Why?_" He roared in her face.

"See, you have no idea. You have no clue about his importance. We don't want him around."

"Why?"

She looked away and fell silent. Sam looked at Bobby to continue. Before he could continue the exorcism, she whispered, "It doesn't really matter. If I fail, I die."

Sam leaned up again. She looked back up at him. "No, go on. Exorcise me. It tickles. Don't you remember?"

Sam looked back over at Bobby and nodded. Bobby took a deep breath and started the exorcism again.

Her head started jerking around again, and an involuntary scream escaped from her. Finally, between the head-jerking, she screamed, "Fine! What do you want to know!?"

Bobby stopped the recitation, and Sam asked, "Do you have an antidote for Dean?"

"Yes! It's in my purse! It's been there the whole time!"

Sam looked in her purse and withdrew a vial of red liquid. "It'll cure him, won't it?"

She looked away. "Not necessarily. It may get rid of the poison invading his body, but it won't save him."

"Why not?"

"He's got to want to come back. If he doesn't, he's going to die anyways. He's just going to give up. And, do you really think he wants to come back to you? To this fight that he's going to lose? You might as well let him die in peace as opposed to the death that he's going to face in this war."

"It's me you guys want, not Dean."

"Don't be too sure of that." At Sam's look, she took a deep breath and grinned slyly. "Well, we don't want him around. He's a thorn in our sides. With him around, you'll never be what you are meant to be. You'll never be as great as you're supposed to be. He'll always keep you back. He's the one that's supposed to protect you. Your daddy knew that. Dean is the only one in this world and the next who can keep you here. Johnny boy didn't have a prayer to save you. And, with Dean gone, you will become what you were meant to be. You will join us."

"Never. I'll never join you."

"You say that now. With Dean's death, you will join us, though." She struggled against her binds. "So, you got what you want. Now, let me go."

"You know I can't do that." Sam nodded at Bobby, who started doing the recitation again.

She growled and glared at Sam between her head jerks. Finally, she had enough. She released her hold on the girl.

The girl leaned her head against the back of the chair and screamed. The demonic black smoke poured out of her mouth, and exploded on the Devil's Trap on the ceiling.

Sam and Bobby backed away from the black smoke. After the demon left, the only sound in the room was the girl's ragged breathing.

Angela groaned and groggily moved her head against the back of the chair. She opened her eyes and looked at Sam and Bobby. "W-where am I? Who are you guys? No, don't. I think I remember. You're Sam, right? I don't know why I know your name, but I do."

Sam moved to her to untie her from the chair. She frowned. "The last thing I really remember—the last time I seemed to be in control of myself—was two weeks ago. I was going to a friend's house. After that, everything got out-of-body. I remember what happened, but I couldn't control anything. Do you understand?"

"Yeah. Trust me, I know what you're saying."

She moved her wrists to get the blood circulating in them again. "Oh, God. There was this guy I met at the bar. Your brother, right? I didn't mean to do it! I-I couldn't stop it from happening." Andrea looked at Sam with unshed tears in her eyes. "Is he alright? Should I turn myself into the cops or something?"

"No," Bobby said. Angela turned to him. "You don't have to turn yourself in. You didn't know what was going on. No one would believe you, anyways."

'What _is _going on? I need to know. After all, it happened to me!"

Bobby offered her his hand. She took it, and he pulled her up to her feet. "Do you believe in demonic possessions?"

"You mean like _The Exorcist_? Yeah, I do."

"Well, congratulations. It happened to you. You're alright now, though, hon."

She looked at him, puzzled, then turned to Sam. "Your brother… that antidote you're holding should counteract the poison. Let's go now. Inject it into a vein. It'll heal his body in a couple days."

She moved unsteadily past Sam. "Let's go. Please? I don't want your brother's death on my hands."

* * *

Sam and Angela walked into the hospital together. She nervously eyed Dr. Davenport, who was staring at them with disbelief on his face.

"Sam, he's a demon. I don't know how I know it, but I remember that he is," she whispered to him.

Sam stepped to the doctor who quickly left his station and walked down the hall. "I think I remember he's a coward," Angela called after him while grabbing a capped, clean syringe off a nurse's cart as slick as a pickpocket. "So, leave him alone for now and let's help your brother!"

Sam turned back and opened the door to Dean's room. "This will work, right?"

"Well, it'll get rid of the poison. It'll flush out of his system. And, it'll allow medicine to start working for him. But, I hope he'll be alright. He needs to be alright." She sighed. "I can't believe that I'm here, doing this. I'm just a girl who works in a lab for 8 hours a day. I'm really not a bad person. I promise you, Sam."

"I know you're not."

She handed Sam the vial and syringe. "You do it. I can't." She looked at Dean with tears in her eyes and backed up to the door.

Sam loaded the red liquid into the syringe and gently squeezed out any air that was in the liquid. "In a vein, right?"

"Yeah."

IVs were placed in both of Dean's arms. _The back of his hands_, Sam thought, wincing in sympathy. I knew how to place in IVs. He was pretty good at it. _Thanks to Dad's instructions. We had to learn to do this! _

But, he hadn't done it in a while. He hesitated, hoping that he wouldn't miss the vein. Finally, he took a deep breath and gently poked the needle into a vein in the back of Dean's hand.

* * *

Dean felt a sharp pain in the back of his hand. He rubbed it as he walked with Mary around Target. He noticed a bruise starting to form on his hand.

_I wonder what happened. _He thought uneasily.

"A penny for your thoughts, hon?" Mary asked.

"They aren't worth that."

"You've been very quiet since Jess went back to Palo Alto. What's been on your mind?"

Dean sighed. "Just trying to figure things out."

"Anything you care to share?"

"Not now." He grinned. "Why don't you look at the shoe section, and I'll catch up with you in a couple hours."

She laughed. "I'm not that bad! Besides, the shoe section here doesn't take anywhere close to even 15 minutes to go through!"

"Yeah, right." He backed away. "Have fun."

"What are you going to do?"

"Just hang out. Maybe I'll see if I can't find some guys from high school to hang out with. See how much they didn't change. I'll pick you up later."

Dean left the store and walked out to the Impala. Driving around in the Impala was the only time he felt normal. He rubbed his hand again. _Damn, that hurt. _It felt like a needle had gone into it.

He put the car in gear and pulled out of the parking lot. As he drove past the gun store, he briefly thought about going inside. He shook his head. _Whatever I'm doing to myself, I need to snap out of it!_

He glanced at the gun store again and slammed his brakes. The car squealed to a stop and grumbled about the sudden braking. He parked in a spot in front of the store and got out.

_No way. I don't believe it!_ "Christa?" He whispered.

The woman continued to walk past the store, but she glanced his way. It was her. It was her! And she's _alive?_ He saw her body with his own eyes.

"Chris!" He ran after her, avoiding the crowd of people that suddenly appeared, as if to block him. She glanced back his way and smiled. However, she sped up her gait.

Dean followed her around the block. H saw her across the street and rushed after her. A horn blared in his ears, and he looked over in time to see a pickup bearing down on him, honking its horn. The truck came to a stop, less than two inches from Dean.

The driver leaned out the window. "Hey, asshole! You trying to get yourself killed here?"

"Sorry." Dean backed up to the opposite sidewalk and looked around.

Christa was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

Dean rushed into the house and locked the door behind him. He couldn't stop shaking. Not because of the near-death experience but because Christa had been dead. She cut her wrists. He'd seen her body.

_I knew someone should have salted and burned her! _He thought involuntarily.

He ran upstairs to the bathroom and took out his medications. He looked carefully at them. _Hallucination. All I had was a hallucination. Because Christa is dead! And, these meds, they're known to be powerful hallucinogens. If I'm getting hallucinations, then these aren't working._

He put the bottles back in the cabinet. _I don't think I'm going to take these for a while. Not if they're causing me to have delusions. I wonder if these also are the reason my hand hurts? _Dean checked his watch. _Dr. Hendrickson is probably gone for the day, so I can't call him now. I just won't take them tonight._

He walked out of the door to pick up Mary.

TBC

A/N: Not my best chapter. I realize that. I'm actually trying to get this story finished before the season finale invalidates everything. Also, I'm still reeling from "What Is…" Amazing episode. Jensen was unbelievable in it!


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Two more chapters after this one. I've got a cute little one-shot to put up next, followed by one of my earliest stories I've written in this fandom.

Disclaimer: Damn you, Kripke!! You made me cry _two weeks in a row_!! I know you have an evil twist in your evil, genius mind, but still… Damn you, Kripke!! I mean, I say "Oh, _Dean!" _in every single episode, but Kripke is bound determined to kill me dead! I'm going to die watching this show. Oh, still don't own Supernatural. If I did, I wouldn't be cussing out Kripke!

**Weight of the World**

It had been two days since Dean decided not to take his pills. _And, so far, so good. No delusions._

In fact, Dean was starting to feel good. Normal again. And, it was a good feeling.

He examined his amulet. He wished he could remember who gave it to him and why it was given to him. _It's the protector. Who am I protecting? I'm sure not protecting anyone here._

He slipped the leather band over his head and lowered it onto his chest. He felt its powerful warmth and energy.

He pulled out his box from under the bed and flipped through his journals again. He was starting to be able to read his handwriting. He couldn't decide if this was a horrible thing or a…normal thing.

"Hey, Dean?"

Dean looked up to see his mother leaning against his opened door. She continued, "Is everything alright? You've been flipping through those notebooks pretty obsessively for a couple days now. Are you looking for something in particular?"

"No, not really."

She sighed and came into the room. "You know, after your last visit with Dr. Hendrickson, I had some questions for him. He told me that abuse is sometimes a trigger for schizophrenia. He mentioned maybe from a teacher or a coach. Dean, you would have told me if someone had abused you when you were a kid, wouldn't you?"

"Mom, I was never abused. Don't worry about that."

She grinned in relief and gave him a hug. "Just, I still worry about you. I'll always do that. I'm your mother. You are still taking your pills, right?"

Dean quickly looked away, "Yeah."

She gave him a kiss on his cheek. "I'm off to school. This is my busy day. I have the evening class."

He followed her to the door. "Hey, Mom. Any chance I can meet your friend you was telling me about? That Missouri?"

"Sure!" She scribbled down an address in her notebook and tore out the page. "You should have no problems sitting down with her. But, I should warn you—she's a little blunt. Sometimes to the point of being rude."

Dean took the address. "I think I can handle it."

Mary suddenly hugged him again. "Dean, the only thing I've ever wanted from you was for you to know where you belong. For you to feel fulfilled in your life. And I know that right now, you're confused and hurting, and I don't know how to help you. Maybe someone who doesn't know you can help you get some sort of perspective."

"I know."

* * *

Dean walked into the house and took a seat. Soon, a man and a woman came out of the back room. The familiar-looking woman was comforting the man, "All right then, don't you worry about a thing. Your wife is crazy about you."

After the guy left, she turned to Dean. "Poor bastard. His woman is cold bangin' the gardener."

_Déjà vu. _Dean thought as he stood up. _I knew she was going to say that!_

"Then, why did you say everything was going to be fine?" Dean had the strangest feeling that he had asked this woman a question like that, although he knew he had never met her before.

"People don't come here for the truth, they come here for good news." She turned to Dean and frowned. "I know you."

Dean hesitated. "Well, you know my mother. Mary Winchester."

"Oh, yes. Dean, right? Your mother called me a few days ago, saying that you were going to talk to me about some sort of supernatural theories. I helped your mother out a few years ago with some ghosts and some demons in your old house. Anyway, you took your sweet time about coming to see me, didn't you?" She frowned again. "So, come in the back. Let's talk."

She led him to the back room, and he sat down on her couch and eyed the coffee table, debating what she would do if he put his foot on the table.

Missouri frowned. "I'm sorry, but I'm not getting a read on you. Usually, I can just see what people are thinking. I can get a feel of their auras. I'm not getting yours." She looked at him, "Boy, if you put your foot up on my coffee table, I'm gonna whack you with a spoon."

Dean put his foot down. "You said you weren't able to read what I was thinking. How'd you know I was thinking of doing that?"

"Your eyes aren't exactly subtle, you know. I can tell that every thought you're having comes right out of your eyes. You must have to wear sunglasses to hide your eyes whenever you play poker, don't you?"

Dean sighed. _She hasn't changed much, _he thought, wondering why he was thinking that. He focused on something she said. "What do you mean that you're not getting my aura or my thoughts?"

Missouri sighed in turn. "Everyone gives off auras, although many don't believe this. A psychic can usually tell what kind of person you are by that."

"No, I get that. I understand that. I know what auras are. But, you can't tell what mine is like?"

"I can tell you're a good person and have a big heart by the light in your eyes. But, your aura? It's fractured. It's like you're being forced to be in a place and a time that you don't belong."

Dean sat forward. "Like this isn't real?"

"You don't think this is real?"

He hesitated, realizing he had only one answer. "No."

"You don't think I'm real?"

"I know you're real. Don't ask me why, but I know you're real. I've met you before." He stood up, muttering, "Maybe I need to start taking my pills again."

"Your pills?"

"I'm schizophrenic. To be honest, I've been off my meds for a few days. That's probably what's making me think these thoughts. I mean, so what if meds are almost all powerful hallucinogens? They're helping me, right?"

"Dean, I don't think you're schizophrenic. I think you're confused, and I think that you may not belong here. But, I don't think you have any mental illness. The question is how to get you back to where you belong. That is, if you even want to go back."

Dean sat down again. "I don't know if I want to go back. I remember now what I'll be encountering there. It's not Heaven, like my friend, Christa thought. For me, it's Hell. Pain, death. The thing is—I knew what to do there. I knew where I stood. What I was meant to do. Protect. I don't really have a place here."

Missouri sat back. "I don't exactly know what to tell you, Dean. But, by your aura, you don't belong here. You belong somewhere else."

Dean stood up again and paced around. His brain was racing, giving him ideas, some he wanted to explore further. Others he wanted to reject outright.

A whistle of a teapot interrupted his agitated thoughts and pacing. Missouri stood. "That's my tea. Join me, alright? We'll talk over your options." She left the room.

Dean continued to pace around the room, examining pictures and figurines. He examined a strange picture of a hospital room. The shadows looked like they were moving around the people in the picture. He peered closely at them. There was an image of a tall, lanky man, sitting in a chair, head bowed, but not like he was praying. Like he was waiting for some sort of news on the guy in the bed. Shadows crossed over the seated figure again, obscuring him from sight. The shadows almost made it look like he had black eyes.

Dean stepped back from the picture. _That's it. I'm out of here. This woman is as crazy as I am. I don't need to subject myself to any more insanity._

He caught sight of his image in a mirror. He looked crazy. _OK, I need to start taking my pills again. Damn the fact that they're hallucinogens. _

Dean glanced down to pull out the keys from his pocket. He looked back into the mirror. A man was standing beside him in the mirror.

"Sam?"

The ghostly image faded from the mirror.

Dean quickly walked out of the room, nearly crashing into Missouri who was carrying a tea tray into the room. He backed up to avoid the collision.

"Boy, like a bull in a china closet."

"Thanks for everything, Missouri. I have to go."

"Dean? We're going to discuss your options." She hurried after him.

He didn't slow down until he got into the Impala. He sat in the car for a few minutes. The moving picture didn't freak him out. Neither did Sam's sudden appearance.

Both felt expected. That was what freaked him out. So did the feeling that he knew what he should do next.

Although, he knew he didn't want to.

* * *

Dean walked into his house and tossed his jacket on a chair. "Mom?" He called out.

Silence answered him.

He chuckled to himself. Of course she wasn't home. This was the night she had an evening class. She wouldn't be back until late tonight.

He flipped on the TV and grabbed a frozen pizza out of the freezer. As he put the pizza in the microwave, he glanced around the dark room, suspicious.

_Someone is in here._

He slowly snuck out of the kitchen, all senses heightened. He automatically checked the waistband of his jeans where he knew he had kept a gun before.

He heard the TV flip off behind him. He stepped out into the living room. On the coffee table, shining in the glow of the streetlight was a handgun.

Dean picked up the gun and opened it. It had one bullet in it. It felt comfortable in his hand.

He heard a noise behind him, and he turned, bringing up the gun and training it on the source.

"Please don't shoot me! I didn't mean anything! I just wanted to talk to you in private!" A girl's voice cried panicky from the shadows.

Dean turned on a lamp, and the light illuminated Christa, who was sitting on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest.

"Chris? What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to talk to you! I saw you the other day, and I wanted to catch up!" She struggled to her feet.

"So, you broke in here?"

"Not exactly." She started walking toward him.

Dean stepped back. "Wait. You're dead."

"Do I look dead?" She held out her hands and grinned at him.

"I saw your body. You cut your wrists."

She laughed. "Best thing I ever did too. You know my theory? About believing in your delusions? Well, it's true. And, it's whatever you want it to be."

Christa sat on the couch and crossed her legs beneath her. She looked up at him. "C'mon, Dean. Sit and talk to me. I'm here to help you."

He sat in a chair opposite of her, never taking his eyes off of her. "Help me with what?"

"Figure out how to get back to your real life."

"How do you know this isn't my real life?"

"Because I know you, Dean. I watched you in the institution. You knew then, didn't you? You kept protecting all of us. Taking Nurse Ratchet's wrath upon yourself so none of us would have to deal with her as you did. Ever thought she was a demon? Did you ever want to draw a Devil's Trap on the ceiling and start an exorcism?"

"How do you know all of that stuff?"

"You're my assignment. My job was to help you realize things." She looked down and played with the ring on her finger. "You can't stay here. You have to go back."

Dean dropped the gun on the coffee table. "What are you?"

"I guess you could call me a reaper." She stood up, walked to the wall and examined the pictures on it. "Although, I'm not exactly the same kind of reaper you've encountered before. I need you to go back to your real life. You need to get out of your head and back into your life. You're not done there."

She grabbed a picture and brought it to Dean. "Take it. Look at it. Do you know what this is? This is a glimpse of what's going on in your real life."

Dean took the picture. His hand brushed hers, and he felt a cold shiver go down his spine. She withdrew her hand, and he looked at the picture. It was the same picture of the hospital room that he found in Missouri's house.

Christa continued, "See Sammy? Sam's going to die without you. Now, that's a fact. He's not going to hold on too much longer. He's not going to stay on this side of the war too much longer. Well, not without you. Demons are already starting to work on him. And, you're not there to keep him from falling into the darkness that's already starting to eat at him."

He fingered the picture and watched the shadows make the figures move. "I don't know what to do."

"Remember my theory? I'm pretty sure that you'll wake up from all of this."

Dean chuckled dryly. "Pretty sure?"

"Really pretty sure." She walked toward the door, and then turned back to Dean. "There's one bullet. Make it count. I'm going to leave you alone now. Hope you make the right decision."

After she left, Dean eyed the handgun. He picked it up and ran his hand over its smooth surface. He opened it again and contemplated the bullet.

_Really pretty sure_. Those were betting odds when he said it. When others say it? That was a different story.

He dropped the gun and shot out of his chair. As he paced around the room, he caught sight of another picture of the hospital scene again. _How many of those damn things are around?_

He didn't want to die. Especially not knowing what was beyond this. Although he had two people tell him today that he wasn't crazy and didn't belong here, he wasn't convinced that they weren't crazy.

Christa? She might be a delusion. Brought about by an insane mind that was rapidly starting to break down again without his medications.

He didn't feel right here, but he wasn't sure he wanted to go back to his "real" life. He remembered. The keeping one step ahead of the FBI, and sometimes not being able to. The worries that he won't be enough to keep Sammy from becoming evil. The constant near-death experiences. The lack of appreciation.

There were a lot of things to keep him here. Love of his mother. Love that he knew he missed. He had the love of Jess. He could have a normal life, however boring it probably would be.

He wasn't a protector here. He tried to convince himself that this was fine. He didn't need to protect anyone here.

The only thing that would drag him back in this other world is Sam. Sam who needed him. Who needed protection.

Protection. His calling. His destiny.

He stopped his agitated pacing. _I understand. _A feeling of calm engulfed him.

He knew what to do.

He grabbed the gun. In a smooth, natural motion, he cocked the gun and fired. He felt a white-hot pain, followed by a numb, cool darkness.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: OK, since I'm a little bored (sorry), I decided to put the next-to-last chapter of this story. Last chapter will go up tomorrow.

Disclaimer: Yadda yadda yadda. What can I say? I don't own it. I don't own anything. It's really sad.

**Weight of the World**

Darkness. The darkness seemed unending. Dean wasn't sure what was happening. Nothing had ever felt like this before.

"Dean?" He could hear Mary's voice coming through the darkness, but her voice was faint. "Dean? Oh, God. Honey, please wake up. Don't do this to me! No! Come on, baby. Wake up!"

_I'm sorry, Mom. I can't. I can't come back._

As she screamed out in pain and grief, he started hearing a new voice. A male voice. He couldn't quite hear the words, but he could hear the tone. The man's voice had a subtle tone of desperation. It sounded a little like Mary's voice, although Mary's voice was full of panic.

_Sammy?_

He started to feel things. He could feel the respirator shoved down his throat. _Great. Not again. I hate those things! _

He knew that if he would open his eyes, he would be back. Back in his hell.

_Maybe I made a mistake…_

* * *

Sam flipped through a book that Bobby had about trapping demons. He wasn't finding much of anything except the Devil's Trap. He didn't think the hospital staff would appreciate him drawing Devil's Traps around the hospital, hoping that he could catch Dr. Davenport in them. Plus, he had to trust Angela that Davenport was possessed by a demon, although he hadn't really seen any signs of possession.

Since the antidote was admitted, the doctors admitted that Dean's organs seemed to be repairing themselves, which both baffled and delighted them. Although he was still in his coma and the doctors whispered that Dean would probably never wake up. And even if he did, he probably wouldn't be the same. They thought that the fever had caused too much damage.

Bobby offered to sit with Dean a while, but Sam refused. He wasn't about to leave Dean's side, and Bobby didn't press the issue. Instead, he kept his eye out on Dr. Davenport, keeping his eye on any signs of possession, plus searching for a way to get him alone to perform an exorcism. No opportunity was presenting itself.

Sam was frustrated. Angela said that he would wake up, if he wanted to. It was the "if" that was driving Sam insane. What if he didn't want to? What would happen if Dean didn't choose to live again? After all, he had been through a lot this past year, and he might just happen to choose to quit fighting.

And then what would happen?

"Sammy?"

Sam looked up at Bobby standing over him. Bobby cleared his throat. "Want some company? This isn't really good for you, y'know? You need to get out of here, get your nose out of these books. Get some fresh air."

"I can't. What if he wakes up? What if he decides to just go ahead and let go? What if he's trying to get back and he can't? He doesn't remember what happened after tangling with the reaper after the accident. So, these books are all I have to go on." He shut the book. "Do you know anything?"

Bobby sighed and ran a hand across his beard. "I've got ideas. Right now, the ideas are only half-formed, and nothing you need to worry about until you stop feeling like you're in limbo with Dean. Oh, don't worry. I will let you in on the plan once it's a plan and not just swirling thoughts."

Sam stared at Bobby, trying to figure out the idea. Bobby stared back, and Sam finally looked away to Dean's bed. _Is his hand moving?_

"Dean?" Sam moved to a chair beside Dean's bed. _Yes, his hand is definitely moving! Weakly, but it's moving! _"Dean?" He said again.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Bobby leave the room to get a doctor. "Hey, Dean. Looks like you're getting better. You gave me a real scare. Don't you ever do that again."

Sam thought he could see Dean's eyelashes flutter, but he couldn't be too sure about that. Other than those promising signs, Dean didn't show any other awareness of anything.

Bobby walked back into the room, with a doctor trailing behind him. The doctor immediately went over to Dean and checked him out for a few minutes before giving him an injection. He stood up and turned to Sam. "I'm sorry. It was just a muscle spasm. I'm sorry, but he's not going to wake up any time soon."

Sam took a step forward. "What did you give him?"

"Just a muscle relaxer. I swear that's all I gave him. But, sometimes, muscles like to cramp up. We're just trying to keep him as comfortable as possible."

"He's gonna wake up. Soon."

The doctor nodded, but Sam suspected it was patronizing. As he turned to watch the doctor walk out of Dean's room, Sam could see Dr. Davenport smirking at him from the doorway.

_OK, that does it. I'm gonna send him back to hell right now. _Sam took a step toward the door. Davenport dropped his smile and practically ran away from the door.

Bobby stopped Sam's advancement. "Let him go for now, Sammy. We'll send him back to hell, but we gotta be smart about it. We can't just start pummeling him in front of every person here. We can't do that. We just gotta be patient."

Sam took a deep breath, and Bobby let go of his arm. "OK, I'll follow our demon doc. But, Sammy, get some sleep. I'll also see if there's anything I can find in my books. But, you gotta promise me you won't do anything stupid and that you'll get some rest. I'd prefer the motel, but we both know that's not gonna happen."

Sam nodded, and Bobby slowly left the room, turning towards the direction that Davenport fled to. Sam turned and looked back at Dean.

_I know he was moving. I know that he was waking up._

* * *

Sam opened his eyes to see Dean sitting on his bed. He jerked startled. "Dean?"

Dean grinned his cocky smile. "Hey, Sammy. You been taking care of my car? 'Cause if you're not, you do know that you're in for an ass-kicking, right?"

"Dean! You're all right!" Sam jumped out of his chair.

Dean held a hand out. "No chick flick moments. Bitch."

"Jerk," Sam replied automatically. "What's going on? You're not exactly acting right."

"I'm not, Sammy."

The frankness in Dean's voice made Sam stop. Dean shook his head. "Y'know, there's only one way that we can defeat the yellow-eyed bastard and his pain in the ass spawn."

"How's that?"

"You're gonna have to join them."

Sam frowned and slowly backed up. "What are you doing? You promised that you'd keep me from going dark side, and now you're telling me to give in?"

Dean looked down and smiled again. "What are you so scared of, Sammy? Hell's not so bad. You'll get used to it after a while." He glanced up at Sam with black eyes. His cocky grin stiffened into something evil.

He continued, "I did."

* * *

Sam jerked awake, still seeing Dean's creepy black eyes. He felt someone's eyes on him.

He turned to Dean's bed to see Dean's eyes half open. He grinned in relief when he saw the eyes were a familiar green.

"Dean?" Dean's eyes were incredibly unfocused, but they were open and unpossessed green. Then, his eyes slowly closed again.

"Dean, you're waking up!" _And it doesn't look like you're possessed either. But, what did that dream mean? _His eyes slowly opened, but Sam wasn't sure if he even knew where he was or could see that Sam was in the room with him.

But, Sam was relieved that Dean was finally waking up. And unpossessed. Although he was now worried that the doctors might be correct about brain damage.

Still, he was alive. That's really all that mattered to Sam.

He looked back down at Dean. Dean was asleep again, but Sam was sure that he was only asleep.

Sam sat back, still troubled by that dream. He watched Dean sleep for a few minutes before he stepped out in the hall to use his cell phone. He hit the speed dial.

Bobby answered on the second ring. "Bobby, Dean's waking up."

* * *

Dean could hear the echo of the gunshot as well as the echo of Mary's scream. His head felt like it was splitting open. He also felt like a werewolf had mauled him, chewed him up, and spit him out. He opened his eyes, only to be blinded by the light coming through his window.

He groaned and closed his eyes. _Hospital. Terrific. I'm back in hell. At least it's where I belong._

"Dean?"

Dean opened his eyes again and looked over at Sam who was hovering. _Is this real?_

"S-Sam?"

Sam grinned in relief. "I'm gonna get a doctor, because just waking up makes you some sort of medical miracle. I'm gonna rub it in the doctors' face. But, you ever scare me like that again, I swear that I'll just… well, I don't know what I'll do." He got up and hit the call button. "You seemed to start waking up last night, but you were still a little out of it. You seem better today."

Dean glanced around, unsure if this was reality, but he wasn't able to ask. He could remember only bits and pieces of his previous life, but they were enough to make him confused. _Which is reality and which is delusion? Or are both delusions of a very sick mind? I mean, I'm a demon hunter… actually, I can see that._

"Dean?" Sam was watching him with concern in his eyes. "Are you gonna be alright?"

Dean turned to him. "Yeah," he said, surprised at the weakness in his voice. "I will be."

* * *

Bobby handed Dean a cup and a straw. "Drink it, Dean."

Dean raised his eyebrow. "I'm not all that thirsty. Besides, I learned my lesson about just taking drinks from others."

"Indulge me. Drink it." Bobby pulled his chair closer to Dean's bed.

Dean fingered the glass. "I'm not possessed by anything."

"Then drinking holy water will be fine for you."

Dean looked over at Bobby, then up at Sam, who hadn't quit hovering over him. "Would you sit down, Sammy? You're hovering again." After Sam sat down in a chair, Dean downed the water and handed the glass back. "Now, can I get a beer?"

"Not with your medications."

Dean lay back against his bed. He still felt like warmed over shit. Plus, he had all these half-formed thoughts running through his head. He closed his eyes.

"So, what's the plan?" Sam asked Bobby.

"You know, I really don't think we're gonna have to worry about the demon now. I just have a feeling…" Bobby said as Dean drifted back to sleep.

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: OK, I decided to get this finished. I went through my stories, and I picked out some of my favorite multi-chapters and one-shots to put up next. I want to thank you for reading and your great reviews. I'll keep this up for a while. Maybe through September. If you liked it, please recommend it to others. Thanks!

**Weight of the World**

Dr. Davenport walked into the nurses' station and picked up Dean's chart. This patient bothered him, and part of him couldn't put his finger on it. There were other parts in his mind that knew exactly what was troubling him about this coma patient.

_Kill him_. The words came from the deepest recesses of Davenport's mind, edging out any protest that doctors must first do no harm.

He averted his eyes when he saw Sam walk by into Dean's room, followed closely by Bobby. Both guys freaked him out. But, at least he didn't have to worry about Dean anymore.

He smiled to himself, thinking of the reason for all the trouble. _The Winchesters. They'll get theirs. Really soon. Show them what hell is really like._

Davenport grabbed his charts and went to check on his other patients. As he passed a couple of other doctors talking about the "miracle" patient. "I didn't want to tell his brother, but I was convinced that he would never wake up again! With that high fever and his organs starting to shut down. I was hoping that he wouldn't suffer too long. I wasn't expecting a full recovery!" One doctor said.

Davenport turned and followed them, wanting to hear more.

"I know. I wasn't expecting anything like that either. That's amazing! I was hoping that I could publish an article about this miracle, but I didn't do anything to cure him! One day, he's practically dead. The next day, he's healed and awake."

The doctors turned and looked at Davenport following them. "Doctor," the first one said. "Don't you have patients to check up on?"

"Yes. Of course." Davenport turned and walked away from the doctors, while growling under his breath.

_Son of a bitch! Dean Winchester is alive! Damn him to hell!_

Davenport walked into Dean's room. Dean was asleep. The doctor frowned at the room, trying to put his finger on what was different. Dean was alone in his room. That was the first thing he noticed. Some of the machines were out of place, but they acted like they had been pulled around by Dean's movements and spasms.

He frowned down at Dean's unconscious body. _Winchester. Always a pain in our asses. You should have stayed where you were. It would have been better all around._

He found the IV tube that was sticking into Dean's arm and lifted the empty syringe to the needle. _Just a few air bubbles into his medication. He'll die. It wasn't the plan, but we have to resort to Plan B._

Davenport was ready to stick the syringe into the tube when Dean's hand reached out and grabbed him, causing him to knock an IV stand in shock.

"Gotcha," Dean said.

The doctor groaned involuntarily. Dean's grip on his wrist was vice strong. "You're surprisingly strong for a dead guy," Davenport stammered out. He tried to pull his hand free from the nearly bone-crushing grip, but he couldn't. He also tried to move away from the bed, but he couldn't. Somehow he knew that Dean wasn't strong enough to keep him from bolting to the door.

Dean swung his legs over the bed so he could sit up. He tightened his grip on the wrist. "Where do you think you're going? Sit down, take a load off." He glanced up at the ceiling.

Davenport followed Dean's gaze to the ceiling. A Devil's Trap was scratched on the ceiling. Davenport then realized that the machines were set up to be a temporary Devil's trap with the bed as the edge. The Devil's Trap on the ceiling, although pretty temporary and hand-drawn with chalk, it was permanent enough to perform a thorough exorcism.

The doctor looked back down at Dean. "Vandalism, Dean? In a hospital? Even that should be beneath you. Also, how does that make you feel, being bait? Because if you were a second too late, you'd be dead right now."

"Sit down," Dean growled.

At that, from the corner of his eye, Davenport saw Sam and Bobby approach him. He jerked again, this time dragging Dean onto his shaky legs. "Not as strong as you think you are, are you, Winchester?"

"Sit down!" Sam grabbed Davenport's shoulder, forcing him into a chair, while Bobby calmly shut and locked the door to the room. Dean let go of the man's wrist as Sam tied him to the chair.

Sam knelt down to tie Davenport's ankles. Davenport allowed his eyes to go black as he kicked Sam away, connecting his foot with Sam's temple. Sam shook his head to clear the stars that popped behind his eyes, as he felt Dean bending over him. "Are you OK, Sammy?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded as he heard Davenport scream in pain. Bobby was dumping holy water on the demon-possessed doctor before he finished tying the man's ankles to the chair.

Bobby walked over to the brothers and helped them off the floor. "Dean, sit down," he gently said, looking at Dean's too-pale face and feeling his clammy skin. "You're still not 100% yet. Getting there, though. You still have quite the grip on you."

"I'm OK," Dean said, even though he could feel his legs shaking.

"No, you're not. Get back into bed before I have to knock you out and put you back like that." Bobby said, pushing Dean towards the bed. Dean sat on the edge of his bed, but Bobby thought he won a small victory.

He then went to Sam. "That was quite a kick," he said as he examined Sam's bruised, bleeding temple. "Will you be able to perform the exorcism?"

Sam nodded and grabbed the book. "Yeah." He looked over at Dean, remembering how the last couple weeks have been. "In fact, I'm very good to do this exorcism."

Davenport glared up at Sam, who circled him, reciting the Latin incantation, and over at Dean, who sat watching, ready to pounce if the demon-possessed man tried anything.

"So, what do you think you're gaining by sending me back to Hell?" The demon asked Dean.

"One less demon to worry about, for starters," Dean casually answered.

"Until I crawl my way out of Hell and rip your beating heart out of your chest and wear your ribcage like a hat."

"Way to work with the images."

The man turned to Sam and yelled over the incantation. "And you! You think you're any better than me? You're not! You've got darkness in you that you can't even begin to understand. You feel it, don't you? Boiling in your blood, making you feel alive? Feel powerful?"

Sam stepped back and hesitated. "Keep going, Sammy. Don't listen to him," Dean said.

"Yeah, don't listen to me, Sammy. I don't know anything. I mean, I don't know that you're supposed to be our leader. Or that you're meant to kill your brother. Oops. Did I let that slip?"

"Shut up!" Sam stopped the incantation, breathing hard.

The demon turned back to Dean. "Should have stayed where you were at, Dean. I mean, you're the only one who can end this war that's coming up. And a war _is _coming, general. I have to respect you as a warrior, but I don't have to see you live through it."

Bobby cleared his throat, bringing the man's attention to him. "General?"

"Yeah, general. These two clowns are the leaders of the armies. Can you freakin' believe it? There's a civil war coming. Brother against brother, if you get my meaning."

"Yeah, you're not exactly subtle."

The man turned back to Dean. "Look, man, I respect you, alright? You are the one that demons fear. You're the one who can turn everything. Everything hinges on you. The protector. Which is why we need you gone. My sister thought it'd be a good idea to have you out of the way, not by killing you, but to put your mind and soul in another place. Get you away from this upcoming war. A war that you won't survive. But, the best laid plans of demons and men and all that. And now she's dead. Father killed her when she reached Hell." He turned to Sam again. "Even though you're my leader, don't think you're getting off the hook for that one. She died because she failed. She was my little sister."

"I'm not your leader," Sam lifted the book again and looked back at Dean. "I'm finishing this now." At Dean's nod, he continued.

The man jerked and groaned. The chair started moving around within the Devil's Trap. Suddenly, the demon burst out of the doctor in a black cloud. The cloud escaped beneath the crack at the base of Dean's window.

Davenport slumped against his chair, gasping for breath. He looked up at Sam. "Wh-what happened? Why am I tied up? What happened?" He glanced down and whispered, "Oh, God. I remember. Please untie me. I'm fine now."

Bobby stepped forward. "You do something stupid, I'm gonna kill you myself, alright, doc?"

"OK. Deal." As Bobby worked on the ropes, Davenport looked up at Dean. "You're alright, right? I'm so sorry. I couldn't stop myself. You should be dead, and it's all because of me."

"Don't worry about it, doc. I'm fine."

Davenport stood up shakily. "I'm leaving now. Understand if I don't come back and treat you ever again. I don't know if I can risk anything." He walked to the door and unlocked it.

"Hey, doc! Are you gonna let me get out of the hospital?!" Dean called after him as he left the room. "Dammit!" he groaned and flopped down on his bed when the doctor didn't answer.

"Dean…" Sam began.

"Don't, Sammy. Don't worry about what the demon said. I mean, he was clearly lying, the way demons always do. You're not gonna be any sort of leader of any demonic army. I promised I wouldn't let you become evil, and I meant it. And I'm a general? Please. I can't stand authority figures in any way, and I'm gonna become one?" Dean rubbed his tired eyes, feeling drained again.

"C'mon, Sammy. Let's get out of here and let Dean rest some," Bobby said. Dean opened his eyes, and Bobby continued, "We'll be here to pick you up when you sign yourself out tomorrow, because we know how completely nuts you are." He pulled Sam, who was still engrossed in his 'What if's, out of the room.

Dean eased himself back into bed. No matter how many times he tried to reassure Sam that demons always lie, he knew better. _Should I have stayed where I was? I could have been happy. Except, who else is gonna protect Sammy? I'll never see the day he leads any sort of demon army. I'll die before that happens. _

"Don't worry, baby. Angels are watching over you," he heard a whisper in his ear. He opened his eyes again. In front of him, Mary's ghostly figure swam in front of him, smiling at him. He blinked, and her figure disappeared.

Dean couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. Somehow he knew that he would come out of this upcoming war a victor.

Fin

A/N: Finishing up a story isn't my strong suit. Still, I hope you like it.


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